


Here Be Dragons

by sona007



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: BAMF Anthea (Sherlock), Beta Wanted, Coldplay References, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Fem!Lestrade, Female Lestrade, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Lestrade and mysteries, Lestrade-centric, Masturbation, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Multi, Not Beta Read, Not Britpicked, Protective Siblings, Rating: M, Sibling Rivalry, Violence, mystrade
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-07
Updated: 2017-10-17
Packaged: 2018-11-28 20:35:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 35,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11425710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sona007/pseuds/sona007
Summary: Genevieve Lestrade wrestles a suspect to the ground in twenty seconds, curses like a sailor, drinks six mugs of coffee a day and sings so softly your heart will weep. She's competent enough to handle what London's seedy underbelly throws at her. She doesn't want to be caretaker to an insolent albeit brilliant junkie or to be kidnapped by his dangerously attractive brother for regular updates on said junkie. Whether it's mysteries or indulging her fantasies about the eldest Holmes, she has a penchant for jumping into the unknown and thriving.Author's note: This is a slow-burn that's going to be updated every fortnight, will be arduously long but totally worth it.  Trust me. :)





	1. The Adventure of the Titan of the Thames (I)

**Author's Note:**

> This is a story that's been on my mind forever. I'll be grateful to hear any thoughts and suggestions. This is a WIP and I will try my best not to break your hearts by abandoning this. Also, this is my first attempt at ACD fanfiction, so please bear with me while I indulge Ginny's sleuthing skills.  
> Here, first meetings happen.

The junkie showed up one day at a crime scene; a drug fight that had resulted in an eighteen year old’s murder. He was barefoot, a yellowing white shirt hanging loose off his chest. His mangy black curls had bits of paper and foil in it and he stared at the body with gray eyes that were unnaturally bright. Her startled team thought he was another homeless vagrant who lived and shot up under the bridge, but the grimy albeit expensive coat convinced Ginny otherwise. It was one thing if the entire outfit was cheap and disheveled. But this kid had been well-dressed and groomed at some point. He’d just been living rough.

Ginny walked towards him and gripped his arms, trying to ignore the stench of garbage. _Where had he been?_ “Look, this is a crime scene. You can’t be here”, she said. “Let the police do their work.”

Gray eyes snapped toward her, frantic in their scrutiny. “I know who killed her”, he said, earning suspicious glances from the five coppers.

Ginny raised her eyebrows. “You do?”.

A corner of the junkie’s mouth quirked up. “Yes”.

“Well, how? Did you see him? Did you witness the murder?”, Ginny asked, breathless.

“No. I wasn’t present when he killed her. I was at a drug den in Barking” he drawled.

“Sure you were”.

“Would you like my dealer’s number, Inspector? Feel free to call him and verify-”.

“How do you know who killed her?”.

“I inspected the body before you lot got here. I was the one who made the call, by the way”.

“Right.”, Ginny said and gestured to Sally. “I’m bringing you in.” The kid huffed and protested, but they stuffed him in the backseat of the car nevertheless. “You know too much for your own good, kid.”, Ginny told him as they drove through the rainy ambush of London’s streets. In the rear-view mirror, his eyes met hers. She fought the urge to look away, trying to shake off the feeling that he could see right through her. He looked as if he’d seen all that hell had to offer and still chosen to cohabitate with lowly earthlings.

“True that, but I have my uses”, he said and settled his head back to nap.

They found no ID, no cell phone or receipts on him. All they got was a sliding magnifying glass. “This is an expensive brand”, said the PC. “You reckon he stole this from someone?”

Ginny flipped it over in her hand. It was set in a dark, sturdy metal panel. If you squinted just right, you could barely make out the S.H. scratched into a corner.

Sally came up to her as she was observing the outer case. “Alibi came out watertight”, she said, her mouth twisted in disappointment.

A wave of exhaustion swept through Ginny’s limbs. In the past five days, three eighteen year old women had disappeared and so far, all they knew was that the killer was probably male, 5’ 11” and either dealt drugs to penniless druggie wretches or hated penniless druggie wretches. She patted her pockets for her notebook, but there was no sign of it. Probably forgot it in the squad car. “Fetch my notebook from the car, please, Sally.” she said before shutting the interrogation room door behind her.

“Not a very comprehensive list, is it?”, His Smugness proclaimed the moment she sat down.

She could only glare. “What’s your name?”, she asked, keeping her voice level.

The kid sighed. “Really?”, he asked.

“Yes. Really. First and last name, please.”

He mulled that over for a second. “Bruce”, he said.

Ginny scribbled it down on the form. “Bruce..?” she asked, waiting.

“Wayne.”

Ginny grimaced. His laughter morphed into a hacking cough that he muffled with his elbow. “You walked right into that one, Inspector.”, he said and wheezed, his eyes wet.

She thought for a moment and crossed out his first name. “Alright, since it’s just all fun and games here, I’m going to put you down as Jack the Ripper.” She made a show of writing each letter neatly on the form. “First name Jack, last name the Ripper”, she said and smiled.

He fixed her with a noxious glare. “How original.”

Ginny shrugged. “What do you know about the circumstances of Aurelia Smith’s death?”

“More than you lot”, he sneered.

Ginny ran her thumb over her eyebrows, trying to stave off the lingering headache. “What. Do you know. About the circumstances. Of Aurelia Smith’s death.”, she repeated, her jaw clenched and her fingernails digging into her palms.

His eyes narrowed. “That crime scene”, he said, “isn’t your only crime scene. Not all the murders were executed there.”

“All the murders?".

"Mmm".

"The Winchester girls?".

"Perhaps."

"Perhaps? And how exactly do you know that?”, she asked, scribbling furiously on the scrap of paper.

A shrug of bony shoulders. “There will be more.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “How do you know that?”

“You must really revisit this line of questioning”, he said as he slumped into the chair. “It is simple, I observe.”, he said, enunciating each syllable loud and clear.

The door swung open and Sally stuck her head in. “Ma’am, his bail’s been posted”, she said.

 _Of course_. Ginny’s shoulders slumped. They’d continue blundering through for yet another day, with no new information. Three young women had disappeared in the past five days and only one had been found, dead on a dirt-ridden bank of the Thames. Aurelia Smith was likely an anomaly, but her gut told her that the Winchester girls had suffered a similar fate and that they were all linked. There was no vital clue that revealed a motive, no witness, no secret informant tipping them off. For all she knew, the murderer could be luring his next victim right now.

“No, not now. The murderer kills them at night and then the bodies disappear. Your intuitions do you well, Lestrade.”, Jack said, his voice almost gentle.

“Why and how do you have that information?”, she asked, her eyes narrowing.

He dug into his pockets and threw a black notebook at her. Ginny caught it in her left hand and her head snapped back to him.

“Hmm. Good reflexes. A pity you’re so slow otherwise”.

“Where the hell did you find this?”, she snarled at him.

“In your pocket, of course”, he said, his face innocent.

Ginny stood up and leaned toward him, her hands itching to handcuff the brat. “Listen to me, you snotty little git. You will not pickpocket an officer of the law. I can still keep you in here on that charge-”.

“And I will get bailed out again.”, he said. He squinted at her as he stood up. “You’re wondering why you should believe anything I say.” His fingers steepled under his chin, he took her in head to toe. “Let’s see, married for four years, intuitive and highly emotional, caffeine addict, heavy smoker, insulin resistant, untidy, drives a 2007 Ford Focus with one hand, has an egg and cheese sandwich for breakfast every day in the car .”, he paused, his nose wrinkling. “One younger brother, absent father, disgustingly close relationship with your mother. I don’t even want to start on the endless marital problems and low self esteem issues.”

Ginny and Sally gawked at him. “Need I go on? There’s lots more”, he said, smiling at her.

“No”, she said, regretting the quiver in her voice. “Get out.”

He frowned, confusion evident on the knotted brow. “I will be in touch.” he said, before twirling around and leaving the room, garbage-scented coat and all.

* * *

True to his word, he did. The very next morning, in fact. “I found your crime scene, Lestrade. And the bodies”, the voice said, before the thought of saying hello had even crossed her groggy mind.

“Bodies?”, she rasped, sitting upright.

There was a moment of hesitation. “The Winchester girls. Be there in half an hour.” The call went dead a second later, followed by two texts in quick succession.

**Cannon Street Rail Bridge on the London side.**

**Do NOT bring Anderson.**

_Like hell I won’t_ , thought Ginny. Her phone screen showed it was 5.55 am. She jumped off the couch, threw water on her face, grabbed her keys and coffee from the refrigerator and stepped out the front door, only to come trotting back inside a second later to grab the nearest coat and gloves. She shot off texts to Anderson and Sally one-handed as she reversed out of the driveway and pulled onto the street. The receptionist at the railway services office had to be cajoled, and threatened at various points in a ten minute conversation until finally, they agreed to give her half an hour with no rail traffic.

There was no reason to rely on the junkie’s conviction, but right now, she’d take any lead. Besides, he’d been right about most of the things he’d spat at her the other day. _All of the things_ , her mind supplied ungratefully. She gritted her teeth and flipped off a cab driver as she cut past him, ignoring his angry shouts. On some mornings, she would greet a phone call by howling into it, throwing it at the nightstand and going back to sleep. On most mornings, she’d return home at 3 am and eat cereal on her living room couch, hearing Andrew’s snores and stifling her urge to kick him in the shins and make space for herself to drop into bed. She’d fall asleep on the couch, watching _Doctor Who_ , waiting for an update, a new lead, any good news.

There were no parking spots to be found, but then that was the advantage of having a police car. There were no regrets as she double-parked and put her lights on before killing the engine. She snatched her coffee mug out of its holder and gritted her teeth when her jacket sleeve got stuck around the handbrake lever. The resultant jerk caused some coffee to splash over the console and her coat, leading to another stream of curses. She watched as the stain spread wide on the tan fabric.

“Your car is a sty, Gin.”, Andrew had said, multiple times. Far be it for him to drive, he would refuse to enter it. “I would rather take a cab than sit in this death trap.”, he’d say, his nose upturned in disgust at the piles of papers on the back seat, the garment bag with the one good suit that lived on the passenger seat, the Ziploc bag of cat litter and the ubiquitous coffee stains on both the front seat and his wife’s left knee.

 _And I would rather run you over with this death trap, dear husband._ Now, as the gust from the opened car door hit her in the face, Ginny dug into the passenger door’s magazine holder and found a scarf. Sniffing at it revealed that it didn’t smell like cigarette smoke or coffee. She got out of the car and shut the door, watching her coat get stuck in the gap. One hand pulled at the fabric at a rather unfortunate angle that triggered a slow, satisfying rip and the clatter of three mother-of-pearl hand-sewn buttons to the pavement. She admired her handiwork, hugged the remainder of the coat tightly to herself and took a swig of coffee as she strode toward Cannon Street Bridge. The constable manning the entry to the narrow walkway let her in as she continued to ignore his pointed look at her attire. As she peered out at the grey expanse of the Thames to the left and the partition dividing the walkway from the live rail tracks to her right, an involuntary shudder passed through her. They had a narrow window of thirty minutes to examine the scene, for the rail service would be restarted sharp at 7.00 am.

The usual huddle of police personnel was now transformed into a tight line in front of the junkie, who was perched on the railing separating bridge from the thin air right above the river. One leg dangled at each side of the broad plank of steel as he bent forwards and to his left, his magnifying glass focused on something on the outside of the railing. Ginny stared at them, speechless. Sally was scowling at his head, her eyes narrowing as his neck rotated outwards in a slow, torturous pace. To her side, Anderson’s hands twitched, his mouth pressed into a thin line, his eyes alight with fury. _Jesus, how long had it taken her to get here? Jack couldn’t have insulted her entire team in five minutes.. Oh, wait._

“This is how we found him”, Sally muttered.

Ginny sighed and made her way through the formation to reach the kid. Putting her coffee cup on the plank of steel, she used both hands to clamp the bony ankle on her side of the railing. “Now.”, she said, “Get down from there and tell me what you have found.”, ignoring the yelp from the leg’s owner. He sat upright and struggled to get free, but she had the advantage of being ten pounds heavier in body mass and several grams lighter in cocaine. Or whatever he’d taken this time.

“Let me go, Lestrade. You’re impeding my ability to observe the blood stains.”, he said, his voice no more than a croak. Ginny swatted away his hands and took in the pale, sickly skin and sweaty palms with growing dread. Suddenly, he stopped struggling, looked her over and grinned, his teeth surprisingly white. “But of course, Lestrade. You’ll want to see them for yourself.”, he said and swung his other leg over to their side. He landed between her and Sally, earning a shriek of disgust from the PC. Ginny let go of his ankle, surprised. That was easier than expected.

“The girls accompanied him here, for the view and a quick smoke. He knocked them unconscious, then threw them off the bridge and jumped in himself.”, said Jack. Ginny frowned at him. “Wait, so you’re confirming that this is the same guy from the Smith murder?”, she asked.

“Yes”, he drawled, like he was talking to a five year old.

“We’ve been looking for the Winchester girls for the past three days. Granted, they were last seen near a pub in Gravesend by the water, but we’ve scoured most of the river and there’s been no update. There was no history of drug use either. Why do you think they’re related?”, she asked. “Also, did you just say the murderer jumped in after them? Are you saying he’s dead?”.

“No”, he said, his eyes scanning the river bank in the alcove in front of them. “But he’s practically showing you his hand”.

Ginny gaped at him. “And why would he do that?”.

The kid turned to her and screamed with barely repressed rage. “Because he got tired of waiting for you dim lot to figure it out, Lestrade.”

Ginny exhaled slowly and took a step toward him. “Watch your mouth, Jack”, she said, her voice low.

“Or what?”, he said and sneered at her.

“Or you’ll be one of many who disappear over this railing”, she said. The words were out before she could stop herself.

Jack stared at her. “You wouldn’t.”, he said, the arrogant smile a little fixed.

“Try me”, she said, a smile turning up one corner of her mouth as they locked gazes. Finally, a twitch of his right eye confirmed her suspicions.

“I followed them”, he said. “The Winchester girls.” He looked at the ground.

“You what?”, said Ginny, all bravado gone.

“They looked like his next target, so I followed them. Until..”, he hesitated. “Until I lost them. He got them to accompany him and they disappeared without a trace.”

Ginny stared at his clenched fists. “All right. How’d you know they were thrown off from here?”.

She ignored Anderson’s whine of protest. Jack looked up, a proud grin on his face.

“I have sources”, he said.

“Okay..”, she said. Their narrow window was closing soon and they had yet to confirm if this was indeed a crime scene. “Let’s discuss that later in my office. You said this is from where he threw them off?”, she asked as she knelt down to examine the scene at her feet. The dirt line in front of them was uneven compared to that all over the rest of the walkway, but she could not say for sure that there was a trace of a footprint. If the murderer had dragged the victims from where they’d found the tire tracks near the walkway entrance, why wasn’t all of the dirt disturbed? She would hope that dragging a body would create a large disturbance and leave a trail. Unless Jack was right.. She thought and her head snapped towards the kid.

He smiled, his chin jutting out. “Clever girl.”, he muttered, but gave nothing else away. Ginny looked back at the railing, the rusted inside edge that gleamed. If she peered closely, there was one, shining scratch but no blood stains. “Why are there bloodstains on the outside but not the inside of the railing?”, she asked no-one in particular. Anderson scoffed. “We don’t even know that that’s true. I’m not listening to what he says and I’m not going to let anyone tamper with evidence until my team is here”, he snapped.

“We don’t have time for that, you idiot!”, the kid hissed at him.

“Don’t call him that!”, Ginny and Sally snapped together. Ginny looked at her in surprise.

Sally avoided her gaze. “Ma’am, we.. we should get a proper forensics team with a safety harness to examine this”, she stammered.

The junkie ignored her. “Lestrade, he might kill his next target tonight. There is no time.” he said, his eyes alight.

“How do you even know that? Where are the bodies?” said Anderson, bolstered by the support. “How do we know you didn’t drag us out here for a joke?”, he went on, his voice grating on Ginny’s nerves.

“Anderson”, she warned, but it was too late.

“You freak!”, he spat at the boy. The latter’s face was an icy mask of derision, but Ginny didn’t miss how his bottom lip twitched.

“That’s enough!”, she barked at them.

She pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes. “Why isn’t your team already here, Anderson? You’ve been here for the past ten minutes. Are they so busy having a morning fuck that they failed to pick up your phone calls?”.

Anderson looked sufficiently embarrassed. “They will be here in an hour, Ma’am. There was a logistical issue.”

The kid snorted.

Ginny frowned. “What logistical issue?”, she asked.

“Their cars won’t start.” Anderson said, now staring directly at the ground.

Her mouth hung open. “Their cars won’t start? How can four cars belonging to people working on the same team not start on the same morning? Were they working yesterday? Or did lightning strike down the automobiles of only these four cretins last night?” She regretted her volume the moment she’d finished, and it didn’t help that the hillside echoed her words back at them. To her right, the kid rubbed his nose and hid a grin.

Ginny turned to Sally. “Any updates from the diving team overnight?”

Sally shook her head. “They’ll be here in two hours too, Ma’am. They had too much exposure yesterday; it was bitterly cold”.

Ginny shook her head. “Right”, she said. “That won’t do. We don’t have two hours. The bastard’s already stalking his next victim by now. I’m going to confirm if there are stains on the outside. If there are, you will take samples and photographs, I do not care how, and process them today. Today, you hear me?” she said to Anderson’s bowed head.

Sighing, she hesitated for a second before planting her palms on the cold steel surface and hauling her arse up to perch on the edge. She took a deep breath, swung her left leg slowly and inched forward to the area where Jack’s head had been. An involuntary twitch of her inner thigh muscles caused her to clutch the railing with all four limbs in a death grip. “Hold my leg”, she said, panting. A clammy, long-fingered hand clutched her ankle as she twisted to the left and lower, trying to reach the exact spot on the rusted surface where there was a dark, dried smudge of what could only be blood. She scrunched up her eyes at the circular smudge. No drops or splatters, except directly below the smudge. Her eyes flew wide open and she struggled to sit upright. “There’s blood here, alright. But the bodies..”. She frowned. _How could no-one have found them yet? None had floated ashore anywhere, none found in the three mile radius around the pub that the divers had searched._ She looked at Jack, who nodded.

“That”, he said, “is where you come in.”

Ginny stared at him in confusion, clamping her ankle closer to the metal railing a moment too late, for the kid turned her right leg upwards in a surprise maneuver that left her breathless, snatched her fingertips away from the steel and left her clawing at thin air, screaming blue murder as she hurtled towards the foamy gray water.


	2. The Adventure of the Titan of the Thames (II)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She regarded him carefully. He was dressed better this time; he was even wearing shoes. The garbage scent had disappeared and there was a nick behind his right ear from a recent shave. Expensive, effective and addictive, he’d said. Ginny gulped. “You’ve taken it”, she whispered. Her peripheral vision registered Emily giving her and Sherlock a long, careful look. Sherlock’s face remained impassive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I say this will be updated every fortnight? Hmm, I must really stick to those rules I make for myself. That may be true for the next chapters but this one wrote itself and I couldn't resist! :D Warning: Totally necessary Clone references.

The cold enveloped her all at once, but she held off the urge to exhale her precious lungful of oxygen. Ginny let gravity suck her downwards before moving her limbs and tried to think back to the Yard survival trainer’s advice. “Kick your legs like a dog would, Lestrade. Upwards and outwards.”  _ Well, as long as the dog didn’t swim against currents. I’m going to murder you, kid. You won’t know what came at you. But for that, I need to get out of here alive. _ She strained her neck to look up.  _ That’s strange. Shouldn’t upwards be brighter? _ Ginny bit the inside of her mouth and used a mossy, slippery rock to realign herself.  _ Aha! _ Her head started to ache as the icy cold caused the capillaries to contract. Ginny kicked harder and let the current sweep her up. As long as she broke the surface before her brain gave out and her lungs let go of the last cubic centimeter of oxygen, she would be fine.

After what felt like ages, her fingertips broke through the water’s surface, she kicked upwards once more and gulped a mouthful of cold morning air.  _ Nothing tastes more wonderful. _ Ginny wheezed and sucked in another mouthful. She continued treading the water as she turned towards the sound of Sally’s screams.  _ Huh _ . The current had dragged her at least 50 meters away towards the scraggy decrepit alcove. From what she had been able to see underwater, there were thick weeds and pieces of junk strewn across most of the rocky bed. The vegetation and junk was so thick it could damage any boat that dared to venture out here.  _ An ideal hiding place, then. _ Ginny considered her chances. There was no way she could swim against the current back towards the bridge. The cold was making her limbs hurt already as the blood circulation to her extremities slowed down. She could either keep treading the water till a rescue team arrived (God knows whether they’d called for one by now) or let the current take her to the alcove. Even if she went with the latter option, it would mean risking cutting herself on rocks and undergrowth till she got ashore. And then wait for someone to come get her.

Before she could make that decision, she was distracted by something slimy drag against her foot. In the scramble to swim upwards, she had lost a shoe.  _ It’s probably a fish. Or an eel _ , she thought and kept moving her legs, trying not to retch. But a half-circulation later, there it was again, the slimy surface that was definitely not moss or fish and could only be covered by some bristly layer of..  _ Hair?!  _ Ginny took a deep scorching breath and ducked under the water towards the obstacle. And nearly screamed. Rosita and Dorothy Winchester were tied to a rock, their faces angelic and their eyes wide open as they stared out, unfocused. She recognized the coppery taste from the water that had snuck into her mouth and thrashed back to the surface. Ripping out her scarf from her neck, she waved towards her team. “They’re here!”, she cried, her voice hoarse. “They’re here, I found them!”.

Her heart hammered so hard in her chest she suspected she’d die of a heart attack right here. _That’d be a pretty picture. Ginny, Rosita and Dorothy, dead at the bottom of the Thames._ She held on to the rock where it was least slippery. Her vision had begun to blur and she prayed to all the gods she could remember that there was a rescue team on the way. _It’s not a bad way to die, drowning because you’re unconscious_ , she thought as her legs kicked slower on every rotation. _I found two bodies, maybe that’ll thwart the killer from his next target,_ she thought as a gust of wind made her scrunch her eyes closed. _Wait a minute._ _Why would he tie them to a rock at the bed of the river if he’d already knocked them unconscious and threw them in?_ The growing dread spread through her like hot lava and halted her legs mid-kick. She ducked under the water again and moved aside the thicket of weeds that was right behind Rosita. An angry stream of bubbles erupted from her mouth before her head broke the surface of the water. Staring out at her from five feet away was Anna D’souza. Ginny pulled herself back up and held on to the rock with all the strength she could summon. She tried to clutch harder despite the warm hands of the current that pulled her away. 

_ Great, I’m gonna die in the stupid Thames. Who was the Hindu river god again? Maybe I can sneak in a last-minute prayer about not dying too young. _ She certainly looked like a goddess, with green eyes and dark brown hair that flew into a halo around her face as they ascended upwards to the sky.  _ What the actual fuck _ , was Ginny’s last thought before she sank into the cloud of brown hair and her head hung limp on the woman’s shoulder. Anthea laughed to herself and clambered into the chopper, taking care not to hurt Ginny’s head.

“Collected, Sir”, she spoke into her phone’s receiver. She felt the weak pulse under her fingers on Ginny’s neck and nodded to the paramedic. “Alive but unconscious. Hypothermic, needs immediate medical attention”, she reported. As the paramedics took off Ginny’s coat and strapped an oxygen mask to her face, Anthea gave the garment a quick survey. “Any major injuries?”, said the voice on the phone. “Nothing that can’t be put back together.”, she replied, smiling to herself.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When Ginny came to, she was greeted by the cheery smell of formaldehyde and a blurry pale shape that hovered above her face. She tried to lift her limbs and grab it, but her body would not cooperate. “Who belongs to this face?”, she muttered, her voice raspy like she’d swallowed gravel. The floating head disappeared from view. “Your mouth smells like my crime scene, Lestrade”, the kid exclaimed and flounced over to a corner. Ginny shifted on the bed and confirmed that:

  1. She was dressed in a hospital gown
  2. She was covered in a heap of blankets that was suffocating the shit out of her
  3. Her right arm hurt like hell



She struggled to sit up on her elbows and looked around her, trying to find an instrument tray; anything sharp that would help her in her task. A warm hand on her shoulder made her turn left. Blue eyes the color of sapphires looked back at her, sending a wave of heat through her stomach.  _ Brownish-red hair. Sharp features. Attractive in a punch in the gut, knock out your breath manner. Beautiful suit. Black umbrella. _ The eyes catalogued her appearance while his face worked hard on not breaking into a smile. He ripped away three blankets to the floor before turning back to her. 

“I would not resort to scalping him just yet, Inspector”, the voice said, its depth lulling her eyelids.

“No?”, she asked as she fought to keep them open, to drink in more of the incandescent blue, but she was already flat on her left side, her hand tucked under her pillow.

“No. Good night, Genevieve”.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The sound of the slamming door woke her up and reminded her that she felt like utter shit. Ginny heard him rifle through the pile of flower bouquets before his head loomed directly above hers. “What diseases do you have?”, he asked, smiling. “Oh God”, Ginny groaned. “You’re happy. Where is it? How many people died?” She heard a huff of laughter from the corner and hauled herself up on her elbows to look at the source.

A green eyed, brown haired woman dressed in a pantsuit stood in the corner, typing something into her Blackberry at breakneck speed, her gaze flicking towards Jack once or twice before going back to her phone.

Ginny looked at Jack, who had settled on the sofa and was busy rifling through her charts. “Umm.. hello?”, she said to the stranger.

The woman looked up at her for a second and smiled before going back to her Blackberry.

Ginny tried again. “Who are you?”.

The stranger seemed to think about that for a moment, before gracing her with a quick glance. “You can call me Emily”, she said.

Ginny frowned. “Do I know you from somewhere?”.

“No”.

Jack snorted. Ginny turned to him. It hit her all at once, hard enough that she sprang up to her knees and scrambled to look for her phone. “The case, what happened? Did you find the bodies? There were three where I was, but there might be more. How long have I been out for? I need to call the station!”, she cried.  

“No need, Lestrade, your murderer is behind bars. We caught him two hours after your little swimming trip”, said Jack, still examining her charts.

Ginny sat back on her heels, the air knocked out of her. “Wait, what? How? Who was it?”, she asked.

Jack sighed. “So typical of the bureaucracy, it’s all a means to an end, there’s no interest in the mystery of what led to your crime scene. It’s just trying to find someone on whom to put the blame”, he said, his upper lip curled.

“You’re describing my job”.

“How tedious”.

“It’s not a game to all of us, you know”.

“Maybe it should be. Perhaps that would make you lot think more. And better. Then again, perhaps not. You can’t exceed your limited intellectual capacity, can you?”.

Ginny wished she could punch the glee off from his face. She gritted her teeth and stared at him, her mouth a thin flat line. “Who was it? How did you find them? And come to think of it, what the hell is your real name? It’s about time you told me”.

“Why?”, he asked and folded his limbs together.

“So that I can arrest you for assaulting a police officer. Where the hell is my phone?”.

He shrugged and continued to ignore her. Emily stepped forward and handed her a folder from her briefcase, along with her phone. “Inspector, I believe this belongs to you”, she said. “And this is Sherlock Holmes. He’s a consulting detective.” she said, her eyes rolling at the last two words.

Sherlock gave her a baleful glare. Ginny frowned. “How do you have my phone?”, she asked Emily.

“You dropped it on the bridge before you fell into the water”. Emily went back to texting at the speed of light.

Ginny gaped at the blatant lie. She unlocked the phone that was identical to hers, minus all the dents and chips. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end as she swiped through her contact list and documents. It was all there, intact.  _ Who are these people? How did they get access to my data? _

As if in answer, the phone buzzed with a text.

**Mere mortals, Inspector. Well-wishers, too.**

She stared at the text, her stomach roiling in discomfort.  _ Number unknown _ , it said. She gulped. A glance at Emily’s pantsuit revealed exactly how well-armed she was. Ginny made up her mind when she spied the strategic position the younger woman had occupied right in front of the door.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, Mr Holmes?”, she said as she looked him up and down. His skin was still pale, but not as much as the first time she’d met him. It was possible that he had not shot up since then, but Ginny was wary. He looked comparatively calm, despite the manic glee in his eyes.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. “I want to be on your other cases. I want to consult”, he said.

“Do you, now?”, Ginny asked, surprised. The phone buzzed again Ginny squinted at it.

**Hear him out.**

“Of course, why else would I be here, trying to participate in the banality that is this conversation?”, Sherlock asked, irritation furrowing his brow. He shot her phone an angry glance.

“I’ll show you banal”, she muttered under her breath and opened the folder. A flicker of irritation passed through her and she turned to Emily. “Why do you have my reports? My emergency contact is my husband. No-one else should have access to these. Speaking of which, where is my husband?”

Emily looked pointedly at her phone. “When the hospital contacted Andrew Bishop, he was indisposed. You had severe hypothermia and someone had to sign off immediately on the ECMO procedure. So I did. And here you are”. It was all said in a nonchalant manner that was chilling at its best.

“Why, thank you!”, Ginny said, wishing she sounded as sarcastic as she felt.  _ It’s you lot’s fault I had hypothermia in the first place _ , she itched to say. Before she could even see him from the corner of her eye, Sherlock grabbed the folder from her arms and flopped away. He skimmed over the report, his eyes feverish. “Your WBC’s are a little elevated, but there’s no complications. You have no diseases, Lestrade!”, he said and threw the folder on the sofa. “This is useless!” he declared, annoyed. “There are numerous studies linking the Thames to a spate of gastrointestinal diseases in water sports enthusiasts. I was rather hoping I would get some bacterial subcultures for my collection from you”.

Ginny gaped at him. “Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you. Also, hang on, don’t you owe me an apology for throwing me in the goddamn river?”, she asked, dissolving into a coughing fit as her voice rose to scream at him.

A glass of water materialized in Emily’s hand. Ginny took it and gulped down the liquid in two seconds.

“Hardly”, said Sherlock. “I had a reason”.

“Oh yeah? What would that be, eh?”

“Data, Lestrade!”, he said, throwing his hands in the air.

She stared at him, nonplussed. “What?”

“Data! How else would I know where the bodies drifted? None of them made it out of the river, they were all tied to the bed like the two girls. We would have never found them if you hadn’t volunteered. That part of the river is so polluted that no diver would agree to stay there for more than two minutes. No wonder we never found his stash!”. He was talking at the top of his lungs now, pacing around the room.

She took a deep breath and planted her arms on the cold, steady hand rests. “Wait, back up”, she said. “Who’s all of them? What stash? The Smith girl was found on the bank under a bridge, she had never drowned. Also, I did not fucking volunteer, you pushed me in, you psycho!”

Sherlock sighed. “Oh, stop being so dramatic. It was either you or me and I think we both agree you can withstand the two hundred and forty-three water-borne diseases sixteen times better than I can”.

His gaze wavered under the glare she subjected him to. “Besides, I solved your case. We apprehended the killer and put him behind bars”.

Ginny gaped at him. “You solved it?”, she asked.

“Obviously”, he said. “Did you think Donovan did?”

“And why wouldn’t she?”

“Because she’s an idiot, you’re all idiots!”, he said.

“Watch it, Sherly, just because you have a brain and ego the size of Mars doesn’t mean we have to take your insults lying down. You will refrain from calling my team idiots. You can forget all about consulting on my cases if you want to continue being an arsehole”, she said and veered off into another coughing fit. Her throat hurt like it was being clawed from the inside. She accepted another glass of water from Emily and gulped it slowly.

Sherlock frowned and looked at his feet. It reminded her of her four year old nephew when he didn’t want to apologize for spilling orange juice all over her coat.

“Fine”, she said after a minute had passed. “Tell me how you did it”.

Sherlock’s limbs sprung to attention. He walked to her side and clasped the arm rest so tight his knuckles shone white. “Aurelia Smith’s body showed definite signs of prior cocaine use but she didn’t die of an overdose; she had a cardiac arrest. What normal eighteen year old dies of a heart attack without taking drugs? No alcohol or opiates in her blood and your forensics ruled out any injected poisons because they couldn’t locate a puncture mark on the body”.

“That’s correct”, said Ginny. “There were no marks on the body anywhere, apart from the strangling marks that were imprinted on her skin.. Oh!”

“Exactly. He gave her cocaine, then injected her with a poison or drug that did not leave a trace and then he strangled her with such force that the bruises from choking covered the puncture mark. Untraceable for your forensics idiots, but not for me”, he said.

Ginny ignored the jibe. “But there were no signs of struggle on the body. She must have taken the poison by her own will. Why would she do that?”, she asked aloud.

Sherlock tilted his head and looked at her, his gaze intent.

“Fine, what would I do if I’m dying of an overdose? Well, I’d try anything to stop dying. A reversing drug?”, she said and looked up at him. “Did he somehow confuse her into thinking it might be able to reverse the overdose?”, she asked.

Sherlock stared at her in surprise. “You got there quicker than I thought you would. Yes, I thought so too. That is how he convinced his victims to go on a cocaine binge with him at the outset. A miraculous antidote that leaves no traces of the drug you took or the antidote itself. The promise of no consequences after bingeing on the drug of your choice. Isn’t that enticing?”, he said, eyes glittering. “However, the overdose drug that he gave them ended up paralyzing them, enabling him to strangle them or knock them unconscious. When I followed the Winchester girls, they accepted free cocaine from a stranger at the party they attended at the riverside pub. I couldn’t identify the man but I know they followed him to the parking lot. From there, I lost their trail. He likely took them to the bridge where they shot up with him. He gave them the antidote disguised as a precaution. They took it, naive and clueless that they were. Then when they were paralyzed, he bashed their heads on the outside of the bridge’s railing and threw them in the water. Rosita was thrown first while Dorothy lay on the ground, unable to move. She followed soon after and then he jumped in”.

Ginny stared at him. He’d had the same to go on as her team, but all she’d deduced was that Aurelia was a cocaine addict who had died of a cardiac arrest and that the Winchester girls were somehow related because they’d been the same age and had been seen near a pub infamous for hosting three drug busts a month. But something didn’t fit. She held up a hand. “Wait a second, why did he strangle Aurelia and leave her to die on the river bank and throw the Winchester and D’souza girls into the water? That seems inconsistent”, she said.

“Now you’re asking the right questions, Lestrade”, said Sherlock and continued pacing back and forth as he explained. “I think Aurelia was left on the bank because he made two mistakes. One, he messed up the cocaine dosage. She started screaming for the antidote, so he quickly injected her. He panicked and strangled her on the spot before she could scream again and attract attention. He could have just let her die of an overdose, but instead he finished what he had set out to do. Two, he did not drag her into the river because he thought people might have heard her screams. So instead, he fled the scene. With all the other girls, he went through with his ritual until the end. This brings us to motive. Why would a man deliberately seek out drug addicts and give them a mystery antidote drug, only to then strangle them and throw them in the river?”, he asked and looked at her.

Ginny shrugged. “Seems a convoluted way to kill someone. If he really only hated addicts, he could have just lured them into a corner and shot them”, she said.

Sherlock nodded. “Precisely. Instead, he’s enacting out a specific scenario each time and the link is the untraceable antidote. Before you arrived on the crime scene, I took samples of Aurelia’s saliva and blood and tested them out. I found the products of reaction of an overdose-reversing drug that was banned only six months ago. The pharmaceutical company that invented it was forced to close the project because they mislabeled the dosage of the antidote, making it even more addictive than cocaine. A couple of poor addicts died of an overdose but the CEO, Bertram Kent, refuted the claims, saying instead that the antidote dosage was a matter of choice and adhering to a specific dosage was akin to infringing on basic freedoms. He even tried to make the case through some newspapers about the importance of choice when it came to dosages instead of adhering to specific recommendations. When the court ruled to shut down the project, he got out thanks to a hung jury but underwent considerable financial ruin and public shaming. He struck some kind of deal with newspapers not to publish details about the traceability of the antidote drug or the two addicts who died, which is why no-one on your team knew what they were looking at. If they were looking for it in the first place”, he said.

“I remember hearing about this antidote. What was it called? Entel? Ettol?”, she asked.

“Ekthel”, said Sherlock. “Expensive, effective and addictive. All in the extreme”. He looked out the window for a few seconds, his jaw clenched. Emily’s unflinching eyes were on him, her fingers paused in the middle of a lengthy report to her handler. “Stand down”, Sherlock muttered darkly and turned back to Ginny.

“Kent was now penniless and alone. Even his family deserted him. No-one knew that he had made off with vials of the antidote before the factory was seized. He festered with rage for months until one day, he decided to avenge himself. He began seeking out cocaine addicts and offering them the antidote for free, even ‘demonstrating’ it himself once with controlled dosage. Of course, they fell for it. Hook, line and sinker. The police found the first two he killed and dismissed them as junkies who had died of a cardiac arrest. It would have continued this way, but a man who had lost so much wanted a shrine to himself, a constant reminder of his handiwork. So now, once the addicts were paralyzed from having taken the antidote, he began throwing them into the river and then tying them to rocks at the bed. He even tied them to the rocks in a pattern that loosely resembled the logo of his former company. I only had to wait for your blood reports to show the same signs of Ekthel contamination as Aurelia’s to confirm that it was indeed the disgruntled former owner of the company who also happened to be an expert swimmer capable of underwater diving for long records of time. We found him living in a shack about 500 meters from that alcove. A quick examination of his car revealed a set of thermal scuba diving gear that was still wet. He confessed on the ride back to the Yard”. Sherlock stuck out his chin and sat down next to her. He picked up an apple from her bedside table and took a bite, his expression thoughtful.

Ginny stared at him for thirty seconds before he looked back at her and spoke again. “Six bodies, including the Winchester girls. The two people he murdered before can likely be found in your missing persons list. Look for cocaine addicts who died of a mysterious massive cardiac arrest”, he said.

He spoke as fast as Emily typed. Ginny considered the information for a moment before she addressed him. “Well, thank you for your assistance with this, Sherlock. Of course, I need to verify the evidence and coroner’s reports for the bodies, not to mention the alleged conviction, but that was brilliant work. I wish my people were half as good as you”.

He shrugged. “We all wish for impossible things”, he said, taking a large bite.

She regarded him carefully. He was dressed better this time; he was even wearing shoes. The garbage scent had disappeared and there was a nick behind his right ear from a recent shave.  _ Expensive, effective and addictive _ , he’d said. Ginny gulped. “You’ve taken it”, she whispered. Her peripheral vision registered Emily giving her and Sherlock a long, careful look. 

Sherlock’s face remained impassive, but he went very still.

“That’s how you knew for sure”, she croaked. “How many times?”

“Once because I had to. Twice to study its effects and time its traceability”, he said as he checked his fingernails.

Her eyebrows shot up. “Right”, she said and nodded. “Thank you for all you’ve done, but I’m sorry, I can’t have you on any crime scene ever again”, she said.

Sherlock’s face fell and her stomach lurched as he fixed sad grey eyes on her. “Lestrade”, he said, but Ginny held up a hand.

“Sherlock, you’re good at this. I know that’s an understatement, but now that I know you take serious drugs for recreational purposes, I can’t have you on, I’m sorry”, she said.

“But.. but”, he spluttered and twisted the sheets in his hands. “No-one else needs to know, Lestrade”.

“I can’t do that, Sherlock. I won’t lose my job over this. I could make a recommendation if you promise to stay clean and share regular test results with me”, she said.

He clenched his eyes shut and his body trembled. “I can’t, I need them to think”, he said, his voice barely a whisper.

“No you don’t”, said Ginny. She put a bruised hand on his shoulder. “You haven’t taken drugs the entire time you were working on this case, have you? You just have to stay clean from now on. Think about the lives you can save!”, she said.

But Sherlock frowned, stood up and whirled around, coat billowing around him. “Fine!”, he said, his back to her as he put his gloves on. “I wish you luck as you blunder around London with your bunch of half-wits trying to catch murderers who are always ten steps ahead of you”, he spat.

“Hey, watch it!”, said Ginny.

“You know I’m right!”.

“Mr. Holmes”, said Emily in a warning tone, but Sherlock ignored her. “I wouldn’t expect better from a woman who ignores her husband’s transgressions merely because the thought of being alone scares her. Tell me, Lestrade, is the police force made up of invertebrates or is it just you?”

Ginny gaped at him.

“You know why your husband isn’t here, Lestrade? It’s because he’s off in Leeds with the gym teacher, knocking her up! Oh, but you already suspected that, didn’t you?”.

“How?”, Ginny stammered, her right eye twitching rapidly.

“How??”, he howled, incredulous. “The state of that coat reveals exactly what you want to do to your husband when you see him. It is the same brand as the one you wear but too long and too broad for you. Before it made contact with the Thames, it smelled like that sickly generic women’s perfume unlike you who smells either like a giant coffee bean or cigarette stub depending on the time of the day. Conclusion, it’s your husband’s coat, the thought of him makes you want to strangle someone and instead of confronting him you take out your fury on his cashmere coat”, he said and clapped his hands together, mocking her.

All thoughts of strangling him went out the window when Emily’s hands on her shoulders held her down. “You’ll rip out the IV from your arm, Inspector”, she said, calm as a cucumber. Ginny swayed as her ears pounded, the blood rushing to her face. Emily turned to Sherlock. “Get out”, she barked. They stared each other down before he turned around and left the room, the door slamming in his wake.

Emily turned back to her. “I would pay good money to watch you punch his face, but you’re not at your strongest right now”, she said and laid Ginny back onto the mattress, covering her with the soft down blanket. She opened her mouth but Ginny interrupted her. “Yes he did, he meant every word”, she said, trying not to notice how fast the ceiling spun above her. Her whole body ached with the shame of having it laid out in the open. She’d had her suspicions, even told Andrew once that she knew, but he had always dismissed it. Before the screams from their argument had stopped echoing off their apartment walls, she had usually left to chase another murderer.

“Here, this will help”, said Emily as she pressed something into her hand and continued typing. Ginny looked down and was surprised to find a roasted almond chocolate bar. It was her favorite brand. It was opened (she noted gratefully), so she broke off a piece and stuffed it in her mouth, grunting in satisfaction at the sugary chocolatey goodness.

Her phone buzzed.

**I apologize for his outburst. It shall not happen again.**

She banged the phone face down on the metal side table with whatever force she could gather. “This employer of yours, Emily”, she said. “Who would that be?”

Emily ignored her and continued typing.

_ All right then _ . Ginny examined her formal attire. She was carrying a Browning L9A1 on her hip and a second on her ankle, plus a taser. And was that the outline of a pepper spray canister? Ginny’s eyebrows shot up. “Putin? CIA? Colonel Excelsior Black?”, she said and chuckled.

A corner of the younger woman’s mouth twitched up at that. “Something like that”, she said, texting away.

Emily’s phone beeped twice in quick succession. Ginny thought she looked chastised for a second, but the look disappeared quickly. “Inspector, I should warn you that my employer has taken the liberty of reinstating your mother as your emergency contact”, said Emily.

Ginny stopped chewing. “Wait, what..”, she mumbled. Emily pushed her down again with one hand when she tried to sit up. “Staying flat helps with the blood circulation, Inspector”.

Ginny hissed through a mouth full of chocolate. “Who gave you the authority to do that? My mother has no idea of..”

“She has been informed of your accident and she will be here in.. Oh, here she is now”. Emily walked to the door that led to the nurses lounge instead of the lobby. “Good-bye, Inspector”, she said before turning away and out of sight.

Ginny lay very still as a familiar, booming voice approached. She cringed as she heard a receptionist argue with someone who seemed determined to wake up every patient in the vicinity with their shouting. “Why wasn’t I informed yesterday? Do you know how long it takes to get here from Aylesford? I want to see her now!”, she screamed.

Ginny gulped.  _ I wasn’t this scared when I was surrounded by dead bodies underwater. _ She sighed. There was only one option. As she grabbed the blanket above her head, her phone buzzed and she glanced at it, frantic.

**Well chosen, Inspector. I would do the same.**

Ginny cursed and put her phone down. She hid her half-eaten chocolate bar under her pillow, turned her head away from the door and closed her eyes.


	3. The Boscombe Estate Mystery I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ginny finds out if Sherlock was right about the Titan, all evidence at a crime scene at the Boscombe estate points at an extremely likely suspect and she nearly attacks a tall, alluring redhead. Oh, and Sherlock reappears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well-dressed, good looking men rarely stalked her or propositioned her in the middle of a car park. She had a half a mind to taser him. The other half was busy building up a scenario where she would end up snogging the daylights out of him.

She woke with a start and wiped the drool off of her face with the back of her hand. One hand groped blindly at the drawers near the bed, looking for the alarm clock. She sighed in relief as she saw the hour hand still at seven. She and the rest of the team had gotten home at 3 am last night. She remembered the feeling in the pit of her stomach last evening that she was being watched, but of course there was no-one around. No hooded ninja tracing her every step. She did find the sleek black Chrysler idling about two blocks away from her building rather curious. Ginny shook her head and got out of bed, taking care not to get tangled in the mess of blankets.

It had been five days since Andrew had left for Matthew’s house, so she had actually slept in the bedroom instead of on the couch. She had come home with her mother from the hospital, all guns blazing to engage him in a fight, but when she saw him watching TV and eating takeout on her couch, the exhaustion had hit her hard. She’d shut off the TV and taken away his plate from him. “Leave, just leave”, she’d said and shook her head at his bewildered face. 

She had heard the familiar insults and excuses without responding. It was a miracle that Mira had said nothing, either. Finally, when she could take no more, she’d held up a hand.

“I know about the gym teacher, Andrew. You were not at a conference, you were at a resort in Leeds with her”, she’d said to his shocked face. “I also know about the science teacher and Mrs. Johnson. I have no interest in your arguments. You have abused my hospitality enough, just because I had no strength left at the end of the day to fight with you. Please get out of my house. Now”.

“Gin”, he’d said and walked toward her, but Ginny had walked to the bedroom, collected whatever clothes of his she could find and thrown them in a sports bag. 

He’d looked at her resolute face and Mira’s black stare and reconsidered. “Fine, I’ll go for a week, I’ll see if Matthew can take me in. But we need to talk about this, Gin. We can’t just break up a four year-marriage because..”

“Because you cheated on me multiple times? Yes, we can”, she’d said and gestured to the door.

“Please, Gin, let’s talk about this. Not now, maybe, but Sunday. Please”, he’d asked, his foot stuck in the door.

“Fine, Sunday. Now go away”.

“I left my keys inside!”

“You won’t need them!”, had come her reply as she sat down on the sofa, her head in her hands. 

Mira had cooked her a proper dinner and they had chatted about all things non-Andrew before sleep claimed her. Over the next two days, Ginny had straightened out the paperwork for the Smith and related murders, or as they were known around the office, the Titan cases. Despite the fact that she wanted to land a sound kick on Sherlock’s arse, she confirmed that he had been right. Bertram Kent’s DNA matched the hair and saliva samples on Aurelia Smith’s body, they found a paper trail for him renting the shack near the alcove where the dead bodies had been found, all the bodies showed signs of Ekthel poisoning and moreover, Kent couldn’t stop confessing. Not that a confession would hold up in court, but they now had sufficient evidence to arrest him and press charges. A sigh of relief went around when the paperwork cleared and Kent was put in long-term custody until his court appearance. 

That being said, Anderson and Sally were still sore about Sherlock’s role in the arrest. Sherlock had not turned up since she had seen him at the hospital, but his contribution to the speedy arrest had rankled her team to no end. She’d had to sit them all down at the end of it and discuss the issue at length. “He’s a druggie, how can we believe him? How can you take him seriously?”, said Anderson.

“First of all, try to understand addiction. Read a leaflet, visit a friend who suffers from it, educate yourselves before you malign someone ‘cos they’re an addict. Second, yes he was a rude arsehole and kept making impolite observations about everyone on the team, but as we verified over the past couple of days, he was right. I know none of us want to know about Anderson’s embarrassing bathroom habits or Troy’s nauseating texts to his girlfriend”, she said loudly as people sniggered and the two men in question blushed, “but Holmes was correct in drawing his conclusions from the same data that we had. At the very least, we can respect that and learn something from it”.

She saw people balk at her stern voice and Sally’s grimace but went on. “We work in Homicide; we’re here to stop people from committing crimes of the worst degree. Now I know this is not the official decree, but if I can’t find a murderer soon, I will take any, yes,  _ any _ means that help us track him or her down. This includes private detectives or consulting detectives or whatever these vigilantes choose to call themselves. That was the one thing my days as a beat cop taught me, co-operation. If you want to work with me, you need to be able to work with a variety of people and approach a problem from all angles. I don’t care if you know the rule book by heart. I want you to use all possible sources to solve a murder. There is no place for ego in our job”, she said, her frown deepening as she examined their disgruntled faces.

“That being said, we cannot have people with ongoing addiction issues being present on a crime scene, so we will not be having Sherlock Holmes back on a crime scene again any time soon”, she said. 

“But”, said Sally and frowned, “that’s good news! You could have just told us he wasn’t coming back, guv”, she said and smiled.

Ginny shook her head at the relief that spread like wildfire. “All possible resources”, she repeated and stood up. “There is always something to learn from people, even the ones you despise. And Anderson, I put some leaflets on addiction on your desk that you’ll find helpful. All right, off with you lot. Go home”. 

* * *

Ginny sat back on her heels in the mud, trying not to disturb the scene at her feet. It was 3 pm on a Saturday afternoon and Anderson was positively strutting on his second case in a week with no Sherlock. “There is damage to the parietal and occipital bone on the left side of the face, likely by a blunt object. He has blood and traces of skin under his fingertips but there are no scratches on his own body, so he was likely defending himself against the murderer with his bare hands”, he said as he made a show of reading off his notes. “That is misleading, Anderson. Give me your observations on the body and the scene, not what  _ you _ think of the murderer. That’s my job”, she said and shot a sidelong glance at Sally, who was smiling indulgently at the forensic scientist. “Oh stop it, you two, can you get a grip?”, she griped. “Try again, Anderson. From the start”.

As Anderson rattled off, Ginny looked at the daughter of the murdered man as she sat in the van they had driven up near the wooded edge of the clearing. She was catatonic; she’d hardly said a word since Ginny’s initial questions to verify her identity. According to the Boscombe estate’s groundskeeper and his daughter, Jill McCarthy had run to his house in a state shortly after discovering her father’s dead body in the clearing. James McCarthy had been found on the ground of the clearing with the left side of his face bludgeoned with a heavy, flat object. She made sure Anderson and his team had collected and stored all the required evidence carefully before moving to the small crowd of people that had gathered around to watch the police in action.

She shrugged the hood of her bright blue raincoat above her head and wiped the rain streaming down her face.  _ This is going to be a long night, _ she thought as she took out her notebook and signaled for one of the estate’s employees to come join her. Two hours and seven conversations later, she supervised the cordoning off and made her way to the van where Jill McCarthy had been sitting. The young woman looked up at her as Ginny sat in the plastic chair in front of hers. 

“Ms. McCarthy”, she said and opened her notebook. “I need to ask you some questions about your father’s murder”. Jill nodded, her face expressionless.

“According to our initial conversation, you were going to be back at Oxford this weekend instead of at home”, said Ginny.

“Yes”, said Jill. “I needed to pick up some paperwork for this job I’m starting on Monday, so I left London for home this morning”. Her voice trembled and fresh tears leaked from her eyes.

Ginny walked to the back of the van and brought back a bottle of water from the cooler. She offered it to Jill, who took a hasty gulp.

“When did you and your father meet today?”, she asked once Jill was done coughing.

“About 1 pm this afternoon. He was out of the house when I arrived; Nancy told me he had left for the shooting range already. So I walked towards the range to find him. I took my gun along because I thought we would get some rounds in. Daddy taught me how to shoot when I was a child, you know? He is.. Was, very good at it”, she said, her eyes widening at the realization.

“And what did your father say when you met?”, Ginny asked as she scribbled into her book.

Jill frowned. “He seemed surprised to see me, honestly. He kept saying I had no business being there. It was so strange; I told him I didn’t mean to barge in unannounced, but I didn’t get why he was so upset”, she said and hiccuped. “So I told him that I would go back to college and see him later. Then, he..”, she stammered and dissolved into a fit of sobs.

Ginny pushed the box of tissues to her.

“What did he do?”, she asked.

“He started screaming at me, scolding me. He has quite the foul temper when he’s mad about something. And we don’t see eye to eye on a number of things. I mean, I love Daddy, but I just can’t take him sometimes”, she said.

Sally shot Ginny a meaningful look. Ginny frowned and looked back at Jill. “Jill, what did he say to you? Did you fight?”

Jill nodded. “It was just.. Hurtful things. Private things”, she said and wiped her tears.

“Jill, I must insist that you share the contents of your conversation with me”, said Ginny, noticing how the younger woman’s jaw set tight and eyes narrowed with stubbornness.

“I’m afraid that’s personal, Inspector Lestrade. I can’t share that with you”, she said.

Ginny sighed. “And what happened after you two quarrelled?”, she asked.

“I left him in the clearing and started walking back to the house. I remember I had thrown my gun on the ground in frustration and being worried about it getting rusted as it was going to rain later. I thought of going back but I just couldn’t bring myself to. And then I heard him”, she said, dissolving into a fresh set of sobs.

“At first I thought it was an animal that had gotten hurt. But then he shouted my name. I ran back towards where we had been standing and found him on the ground, shaking like a leaf. His head was bleeding and he was saying something that I could not make out”, she said.

“What did it sound like?”, Ginny asked.

“It didn’t make any sense, you know. He was gasping for air for most of the time so all I could make out were the words ‘a rat’. Like a rat”, she said and frowned.

“I waited with him and held his head in my arms until he.. You know. And then I ran to Mr. Moran, the groundskeeper’s quarters to get help. I should’ve gone sooner, he would still be alive. It happened so fast, I didn’t realize he was going to.. Oh this is all my fault!”, she said and put her head in her hands.

Ginny nodded at Sally and put her hand on Jill’s arm. “Jill, we currently have two witnesses who saw you and Mr. McCarthy fight and saw you raise your hand at him. Another tells us you had been following him to the shooting arena with your gun in your hand. Then there’s the fact that he was hit with a blunt instrument that was likely the butt of your gun and both the pommel and the sling of your gun have traces of your father’s blood on them, along with your fingerprints. You just told me that he and you had an argument that upset you so much that you threw your gun away and walked away from the scene. Do you see where I’m going here?”, she asked, eyeing the 22-year old kid warily.

Jill chuckled without humor. “Of course”, she said and shrugged. “You think I killed him because of our argument”.

Ginny raised her eyebrows. “Did you kill your father, Jill?”, she asked.

Jill stared at her, her eyes wounded. “No, I’m telling you the truth. I don’t know what or who smashed his head in between me walking away and running back to him, but I did not do it!”, she said, gripping the armrests of the yellow chair.

“Did you see anything suspicious around him when you returned to him?”, asked Ginny.

At this Jill frowned at the floor. “I’m not sure, but I remember tripping over something right as I ran back. It wasn’t plastic, but fabric. It was moss green so that’s why I didn’t see it clearly in the first place”, she said. “But when I got up to go to Mr. Moran’s, it had gone”.

“You mean it had disappeared before you went for help?”, asked Ginny.

“Yes, it was gone”.

“Could you identify what it was? Was it canvas from say, a jeep cover or a piece of clothing?”

“No, I don’t know for sure”.

“How far from the body?”

“About 15 feet. And two feet from the edge of the wood”.

Ginny closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. If what Jill said was true, the murderer had struck McCarthy in the thirty seconds that it took to walk the seventeen feet into the woods from where James McCarthy lay, pause and then run back. Moreover, they had hidden in the woods and picked up something so no-one could find it. They could have waited till after Jill left, but they had made sure to erase all evidence before she could see it again. So, possibly a person Jill would identify because the garment they had dropped was so recognizable it had to be taken away.

She opened her eyes and shook her head. They would have to wait to support that theory with facts, and for that she would need detailed reports from the forensics team. Until then, despite her unease, all the circumstantial evidence pointed to Jill. She stood up.

“Based on the circumstantial evidence, Miss McCarthy, I have to arrest you on suspicion of James McCarthy’s murder.

Jill put up no protest and her shoulders slumped in defeat as Sally handcuffed her and led her to the Panda car. “Of course you do”, she said.

Ginny stopped and examined the approximate location where Jill had seen the piece of fabric. As she got into the car, she tried shake off the feeling that she was doing this all wrong.

* * *

They were in the incident room again. It had been seven hours since Jill had been brought in, and as she and her six-person team reconstructed the evidence and testimonies of the seven witnesses, they all led to the same conclusion. That Jill was lying and had murdered her father because of the violent argument they had had minutes before. The garment that Jill had claimed she’d seen was a sketchy detail to go on, because no-one else but her had seen it. “Right”, said Ginny, “Jill McCarthy is still our prime suspect, but let’s look at the flaws in our case”.

“One, the blood and flesh found under James McCarthy’s fingernails is not Jill’s. This could mean that the murderer was indeed someone else and James tried to defend himself by clawing at their face. Two, we have two new witnesses that have come forth and sent us letters to praise Jill’s character and verify that despite their disagreements, Jill and her father did seem to have a loving relationship. Three, we’re still to get the coroner’s report on the detailed injury to the bone that will give us confirmation on the weapon and the approximate height and build of the murderer. Missing pieces, folks. Any ideas?”, she asked.

A knock on the door interrupted them. Sally stuck her head in. “Boss, Alice Turner is here to see you. She insists she must meet you”, she said.

Ginny got up from the desk she was perched on. “Might as well get this done. Folks, try to get the coroner’s report as soon as possible. And double check any witness accounts for known disagreements between the McCarthy’s. I’ll be interviewing these two new witnesses in the meantime”, she said and left the room.

Alice Turner was probably one of the most beautiful women Ginny had ever seen. And she had been alive for at least thirty-four years. Not that it mattered; according to their background check on her, Alice was pursuing a promising career in nuclear energy research. She was an Oxbridge graduate, a former sharpshooter in the Commonwealth Games and was only twenty-six. Ginny smiled at her, silently cursing the jealousy coursing through her.  _ Why do some people get to have a computer for a brain and I get this addled, distracted mind of a septuagenarian? _

“Miss Turner, thank you for coming in. Sergeant Donovan went around your house yesterday, but Mrs. Turner was with the doctor and you were out”, she said and got her notebook out.

“Thank you very much for meeting me, Inspector. Mum has been sick for about four months now with advanced blood cancer and I was in London working overtime. I heard about the whole thing early today and I just knew that I had to talk to you”, she said and frowned.

“So let me verify this before we start, the McCarthy’s have rented the Graham cottage on the Boscombe estate for the past twenty-two years, is that correct?”

“Yes, that’s right. Jill was born in Graham cottage. One of our maids was Mrs. McCarthy’s midwife”, she said.

“Right”, said Ginny. “Did your families know each other before the McCarthy’s moved into the cottage?”

“Yes, my father and Mr. McCarthy knew each other in Australia. I’ve heard all their stories growing up in Victoria together”

“And Mr. Turner died six years ago, is that correct?”

“Yes, he had liver cancer”.

“I’m sorry to hear that”, said Ginny as she made notes. “So you’ve known Jill all her life, then? How close were you two?”, she asked Alice.

“We’ve been very close since we were kids. Both our fathers were fond of guns, and James built the shooting arena that you saw near the pond. Jill and I had music lessons together, we trained for sharpshooting together, we were three years apart at school so I helped her out with her homework. She’s really bright and has always been a straight-A student. She had just got this job in London and now all of this has happened”, Alice said and ran a hand through her strawberry blond hair. “In fact, Inspector, I think the argument that Mr. McCarthy and Jill had was because of me”.

“How so?”, asked Ginny, frowning.

Alice sighed before she spoke. “Jill and I were best friends, but we had always been more, you know? Somehow, despite James’ disapproval, I convinced her to date me for two years. Best time of my life”, she said, lips twisted in a bitter smile. “That is until six months ago, when she ended it”. She stared at the table between them and her nails dug into her palms.

Ginny leaned back in her chair and let her have a moment.

“I mean, we’re still friends and we’ll always be. Jill was really upset after we broke up, but she knew her father would never support us. She loved James more than anyone else, Inspector. It is simply impossible that she would hurt him, much less bludgeon him to death”, Alice said. She was leaning forward, her gaze intense. 

“Was James very vocal about his disapproval?”, asked Ginny.

“Oh yes, he never missed an opportunity to insult Jill about being a lesbian. He even tried to set her up with his friends’ sons multiple times. Jill hated it. She had only recently started standing up for herself”.

“How about your mother? Was she in favor of your relationship with Jill?”, asked Ginny.

Alice smiled and dabbed at her watery eyes with a tissue. “Mum adores Jill, more than me, I think”, she said. “She was very supportive when we came out. We didn’t even need to tell her we were together, you know? She just told us one day that she’d known all along”.

“Can I meet Mrs. Turner tomorrow? I would really like to ask her some questions”.

“I’m afraid the doctor will forbid it. Mum has had three chemo sessions in the past two months, so she’s been resting and regaining her strength. I don’t think she has the stamina to sit up and have a conversation”.

Ginny sighed. “Alright, but I will schedule a visit to your house for the day after. We need to check the woods for a missing coat that might belong to the murderer”, she said and watched Alice’s face.

If she knew anything about it, she was doing an excellent job of hiding it. Alice merely frowned and nodded. “Of course, anything I can do”, she said.

“Also, Miss Turner, do you have any photos of your father and James from back in the day? We didn’t find any photos at the McCarthy household and we’re trying to put together his past life. Anything you find might help”, she said.

“Yeah, of course. I’ll have some sent over as soon as I’m back home” said Alice as Ginny stood up. “Inspector, could you please tell Jill I believe in her? It’s really important that she knows people still stand by her”.

“I will, Miss Turner”, said Ginny. “Thank you”.

Sally was waiting outside the other interrogation room as the second character witness walked out. Ginny raised her eyebrows at her. 

“Jill’s new employer. She had interviewed there the day before James was killed. Seemed to think highly of her. She’d known Jill since college and always thought of her as a really clever, kind kid”.

Ginny sighed. “Brilliant”, she said. “All the evidence points to our prime suspect and it turns out everyone who knows her thinks she’s a saint. Listen, check out Alice Turner’s alibi. And email Mrs. Turner’s doctor for all recent medical reports. Everyone on that estate is a suspect. We need to make sure their alibis are watertight”.

“Will do”, said Sally and walked over to the Incident room.

“I’m going to go check on the coroner’s report”, she said.

* * *

It was another seven hours later that she got home. She put down her laptop bag outside her door to unlock it. It took her three trips to get her stack of paperwork and her two bags inside the door. Her mouth stretched into a wide yawn as she flicked on the light switch and turned around. 

Her heart nearly missed two beats. By instinct, she hurled the only object in her hands at the intruder with a shriek. Sherlock caught her keys with unnerving ease in one hand. 

“Jesus! What are you doing here?”, she asked and clutched her chest. “Haven’t you almost killed me once already?”

“Oh, calm down. You’re always on edge, Lestrade”, he said and rolled his eyes.

“Sherlock! What the hell are you doing inside my house? Normal people knock, you know”, she said and spied his right hand inching towards her files.

“Normal people are boring”, he said and sat down in one of the plastic chairs. “Hmm, you really need new furniture. There’s probably gum stuck under this chair”.

Ginny shrugged. “This was Andrew’s. It’s going away tomorrow. And don’t even think about touching those files”, she said and removed her coat. “You haven’t answered my question. What are you doing here?”

“So you’ve finally come to your senses. Good things happen when you take my advice”.

“Yeah, right”, she said and stopped, frowning. She looked around her apartment. It looked different than when she had left this morning. It even smelled different.  _ Like lemons. _

“Sherlock, did you clean my apartment?”, she asked and stepped inside, staring at the scrubbed floor, gleaming kitchen and all horizontal flat surfaces that were now devoid of dust. The dishes were all done and even the sink was shining. She frowned for a second and entered her bedroom. It was vacuumed, the bed was made, even her dresser was organized. The closet, however, was half-empty. So was half of the cabinet in the sparkling bathroom.  _ What the hell? _

She stepped out to the living room, where Sherlock was now standing tall, his chin jutting forward. 

“Sherlock, this is..”, she struggled to find the words.

“I think the word you’re looking for is-”

“Intrusive”.

“Sorry?”, he asked.

“You can’t just break into my house and clean it for me. There’s private stuff in here, I don’t like people going through my belongings”, she said.

“Trust me, I found nothing interesting”, he said. “Besides that exceptional mold under the kitchen sink. And you’re using the wrong tampon for your flow, by the way”, he said, an excited smile on his face.

“What?”, she spluttered.

“For a woman of your build and genetic background, I calculated-”

“Stop!”, she shouted and covered her face. “We are never going to discuss that. Ever. I will forget that you went through my things without my permission if that means I don’t have to discuss my menstrual flow with you”, she said.

“Okay”, said Sherlock and shrugged.

“Did Andrew come by while you were here?”, she asked.

“No”, he said. “I took the liberty of taking out his possessions from your shared space, seeing how he has left already. I packed them in the two worst bags you owned”, he said and pointed to two ratty canvas knapsacks on the living room floor.

“He hasn’t left, it’s still a temporary thing. He’s living with a friend of ours”, she said and rubbed her temple. 

“No”, said Sherlock, in his best impersonation of Alan Rickman.

“What?”

“He’s living with the gym teacher”

Ginny found that that elicited no surprise from her. It still wasn’t a nice thing to hear. “Brilliant”, she said and went to the kitchen.

“You seem upset. I thought you wanted to know”, said Sherlock and frowned.

She looked at him as she took a sip of water. He didn’t look condescending, not even malicious. There was genuine confusion on his face. “People generally don’t want to hear about the worst parts of their life in public, Sherlock. Little tip you’ll find handy”.

“That’s hardly the worst thing about you. I mean, there’s the emotional eating, the.. Oh”, he said and nodded at her raised eyebrows.

“So is this a way of getting into my good graces?”, she asked and opened her refrigerator. Thankfully, her mother had stocked groceries before she left for two weeks. Ginny’s stomach growled at the thought of a fritatta.

She looked up at Sherlock, who was staring at her feet. “Well, is it?”, she asked and folded her hands.

“Why, is it working?”, he asked, gray eyes full of hope.

She gave him her best no-nonsense look.

“Fine, Lestrade”, he said. “I am.. Uggh.. don’t make me say it”

She grinned at him.

“Fine!  _ I am sorry _ , is that what you want to hear? There, I’ve said it now and I’ve cleaned your disgusting apartment, so I believe I am done atoning for my sins”, he said, so loudly that the baby in the downstairs flat woke up screaming.

Ginny chuckled. “Well, it’s a pretty grand gesture, I’ll give you that. But you were a right shit at the hospital. I can’t work with someone who insults my team and me constantly. And I still stand by my offer. Stay clean for three months and we’ll see about bringing you in on some cases”, she said.

“Three months? You never said three months. What am I supposed to do until then? My mind will go to rot, Lestrade”, he said, gesturing with thin arms until one of them collided with the wall.

She shook her head. “You’ll stay sober. For each month that you’re clean, I will send you a cold case. A solid good one”, she said.

He stopped rubbing his elbow and squinted at her. “Every one week”, he said.

“No”.

“One and a half”.

“Nuh-uh”.

“Two weeks!”

“Three weeks and it’s final. And no more calling me or my team idiots. Deal?”, she said and held her hand out.

He eyed her with suspicion for a few seconds before grasping her hand with his.

“Not even Anderson?”, he asked, his expression sour.

Ginny laughed aloud. “Fine, I’ll throw Anderson in to sweeten the deal”, she said. “If you don’t mind me asking, how are you going to manage rehab? Do you have the resources to get you through three months?”, she asked.

He let go of her hand. “Yes, resources aren’t the problem. It’s finding a center that will take me. I’ve been to nearly all of them, they’re wary of taking me”, he said and took his coat off to hang it on the rickety chair.

“Where are you going to stay until then?”, she asked. He could just end up in another drug den if it took him too long to find a rehab clinic. “Hang on, where were you staying all this time? Under that bridge?”

He shrugged. “I was staying at an acquaintance’s place until he got too overbearing and I had to leave. I will likely stay at my dealer’s tonight, he’s intolerably loquacious and dull but his couch is agreeable”, he said.

Ginny’s eyes widened. “No”, she said. “You can stay here until you find a rehab clinic”.

His eyebrows went up. “I can?”, he asked, shocked.

“Yes, but on two conditions. One, no drugs of any kind, in the house or outside. You’re going to be clean the whole time until you go to rehab. Two, no bringing girls or dudes to hang out back at the apartment”.

He squinted at her, his head tilting. “Why on earth would I do that?”, he asked.

“I don’t know”, she said, suddenly in doubt. “To smoke weed or play video games or do the nasty”.

She wished she had photographed the brief look of horror that flitted across his features. “Do the nasty?”, he asked, words dripping with disdain.

“You know what I mean”, she said and reached into the fridge to pull out supplies for dinner.

“I hope not”, he said and flinched as a shudder passed through him. “Don’t!”, he said as she opened her mouth to explain. “I agree to the conditions”.

Ginny laughed and started washing the vegetables. “Right then, how do you feel about a fritatta?”

“Hmm”, he shrugged. “I’ll try it, but only if I can use the egg shells for an experiment”.

* * *

The suit was the first thing that caught her eye. In the fluorescent yellow lights of the underground car park where she had been unfortunate enough to leave her precious Focus, it stood out. The blue pinstripe trousers had perfectly starched seams and stretched around toned, well-built legs. The shoes were black wingtips with dark blue laces. Her tired gaze swept up the long legs and pinstriped buttoned jacket and she saw the chest and shoulders straighten as he acknowledged her. The black cane umbrella in his hand was an interesting addition. She grinned appreciatively at how snug the suit was before she looked up at his face. 

Her mouth fell open. The stranger was smiling at her with amusement, his blue eyes twinkling. Her nephew would describe the man’s nose as beaky, but Ginny found it to be graceful. The reddish brown hair was swept back towards his right temple. The immense forehead gave an impression of great intellect, while his long swan’s neck was adorned by a yellow tie that matched the pocket square in the left pocket of his matching waistcoat. Together, the rather sharp features came together to form a very appealing countenance. She suspected that the unflappable air was a put-on, but she had nothing to prove that. Now Ginny was not one to stop and ogle at men; she would dismiss that urge as creepiness of the first order, but her brain was too exhausted to keep up with social niceties. That and the man was standing right in front of her car trunk.

She ignored the tingle that went down her spine. She gripped the taser in her pocket, used her remote keys to unlock the doors and walked to the front door, but he still hadn’t moved. She balked as his cologne hit her senses. It smelled so divine she had to blink a few times and breathe through her mouth to clear her vision.

“Can I help you?”, she asked, weary. Well-dressed, good looking men rarely stalked her or propositioned her in the middle of a car park. She had a half a mind to taser him. The other half was busy building up a scenario where she would end up snogging the daylights out of him.

“I believe you can, Inspector”, he said. Ginny stepped around the car to face him. If her senses had been on overdrive just by being in his presence, they were now on full alert. 

She frowned at him and gripped the taser tighter in the pocket of her black leather jacket. “Why do you know my rank? Who are you?”, she asked.

The rumble of laughter in his throat made her widen her stance slightly and narrow her eyes.

“You would be surprised at the things I know about you, Inspector” he said and crossed his legs as he leaned on the car trunk. 

_ Definitely stalker material _ . “Right”, said Ginny. “Get out of my way, I have no time for this” and started to walk away to her front door.

“Genevieve Koel Lestrade, daughter of Mira Aptey and Burel Lestrade. Half-Indian, half-French, one younger brother who is married with two children. A graduate of Kent University, you have worked for the Metropolitan Police for seven years in total and two years as an Inspector. You speak four languages and broken Spanish”, he said. Ginny threw him a bemused look over her shoulder.

“Well, none of that information is particularly upsetting, is it?”, she said and opened the door. “You can find that on my Facebook account”.

His eyes glinted. “True. However, I also know that you are separated from your husband who has cheated on you with four different women. And that you have met your father only twice since he left your family home in April 1995. How old were you then, twelve? Such a tender age”, he said and sighed.

She swallowed the bile in her throat and chewed her bottom lip. Her hands were shaking so hard the keys jingled together. She put them back in her pocket and turned to him.

He didn’t look like a henchman. A handler, most likely. “What do you want?”, she asked and folded her arms, the taser visible in her right hand. Her voice was low with anger and she stood straight as a ruler, all traces of exhaustion gone.

His face remained the inscrutable mask that it was. “There is a young addict that helped with a recent inquiry of yours, by the name of Sherlock Holmes”, he said, reading out from a small notebook he had pulled out of a pocket.

She stayed quiet but her eyes scrunched as she looked at him.

He looked her over once and raised an eyebrow, seemingly impressed. 

“You haven’t answered my question”, she said.

“I believe I have”.

“Have you? I must have missed it then. Care to repeat yourself?”

He now looked at her in open surprise. “Interesting”, he said, as his index finger rubbed the bottom of his lower lip. It seemed an involuntary gesture, so different was it from the menacing stare. 

She rolled her eyes. “Look, I don’t care what you have on Sherlock, you’re not getting his whereabouts from me. And if you’re thinking of kidnapping or torturing me, think again. I’m a police officer. You will be in trouble before you can say Fu..”

“No need for foul language, Inspector”, he interrupted her and stood straight. “Could you please show me your fingernails?”, he said and held out a hand.

She frowned. “My fingernails? Why?”, she asked.

He tilted his head and his brow lifted as if in condescension. Ginny sighed loudly and held out her left hand. A jolt went down her spine as his fingers clasped hers and he examined her nails. “The right one, please”, he said and smiled when her taser changed hands and she held up her right hand for survey. His skin was soft, albeit cold. He traced the outline of her right hand once, so softly she might have imagined it. He let go of her and nodded.

“I see bribing is not an option, then”, he said and studied her.

She gaped at him. “Yes, bribing is never an option, especially with a police officer. You do realise it’s illegal?”, she asked, worried about his sanity.

He chuckled again. “Refreshing, Genevieve”, he said.

“Don’t call me that. And what’s refreshing?”, she asked, irritation taking over the functioning part of her brain.

“You are”, he said, as if the answer should be obvious.

She nodded, confused. “Right, I’m leaving now”, she said.

“No”, he said. “You have not heard my request yet”.

She scoffed. “Request, is it? Sounds more like blackmail to me”.

A corner of his mouth lifted up in a bitter smile. “Take it as you will. Shame that I have to resort to this. I worry about Sherlock, constantly”.

“Then why don’t you get in touch with him?”, she asked.

“He evades me; runs away before I get in touch. He would call me his mortal enemy if you asked”, he said as he examined the imaginary dust on the tip of his umbrella and smirked at her.

“Look, I told you, you’re not getting any information from me”.

“Intriguing”.

“What is?”

“Why do you care?”, he asked, his upper body leaning forward as his palms lay flat on the trunk of the car.

Ginny bristled. “Why do you?”, she asked, trying to keep her voice in the non-screechy range.

He laughed, showing bright white teeth. “Comes with the territory. You, on the other hand, have no such compulsion. And yet you have offered him your humble abode for the past two nights. You have even returned home early each night to check on him and cooked dinner for the both of you. Are we to hear wedding bells by the end of the month? You  _ are _ known for dating rescues, you know”, he asked, his upper lip curling. 

She bared her teeth and her fists clenched. Her own reaction surprised her. She had been on the receiving end of plenty of slut-shaming and demonizing from her male colleagues, but she had learned to brush it off for the most part. That last sentence, however, pushed her nerves like nothing else had.

“I should punch you in the face”, she said, surveying his cheekbones, the pale porcelain skin gleaming in the yellow light.

His mouth fell open and he gave an amazed huff. With a flick of his wrist and long slender fingers, he gestured behind her shoulder at someone to stay down. She heard the unmistakable scrape of boots on the concrete behind her and took an infinitesimal step back. Of all the ways she had thought she’d die, bleeding on the cold concrete floor with ten bullets in her back wasn’t one. Besides, she hadn’t even touched the pint of Americone Dream in her freezer yet. But her bravado wouldn’t disappear. “Shame”, she said and unclenched her fist. “Purple would look lovely on that skin”.

Her ears rang as blood rushed to her face and her pulse quickened. She saw his eyes linger on the curve of her breasts before they gazed at her from behind long, red eyelashes. “Would it now?”, he asked, his voice a low purr.

Her brain screamed at her to turn away and step out of the garage, leave her car and this strange, deadly criminal mastermind behind. It was without a doubt the safest thing to do. But lust had control, at least for now. “Hmmm”, she grunted, eyeing his uncrossed legs and the impossibly long neck.

His palms left the trunk and he stepped closer. Ginny’s bluster fizzled and she dropped her gaze.  _ What are you doing, you crazy woman? _ , she scolded herself.  _ He threatens you and you make a pass at him? What is wrong with you? _

She looked up at him, resisting the urge to flee. He loomed over her, his brow smooth and his lips slightly parted. Blue eyes darted over her, taking their time examining her. Her hands automatically reached out to smooth her black skirt. She was grateful for the white polka dotted blouse that she wore; it was doing wonders in the warm, sticky weather. She ran her fingers through her wavy black hair, hoping the poor lighting would hide the prematurely greying strands.

He was standing so close she felt the vibration of his stomach as he laughed quietly. “You”, he whispered, “are oblivious”.

Before she could protest that _No, she wasn’t_ , he had leaned into her ear and taken a deep breath. Her vocal cords made a sound that was a cross between a groan and a scream and she nearly tripped as she stepped back, but he held her elbows with his fingertips, his thumbs brushing over the cool skin of her upper arms. “ _Genevieve_ ”, he purred. He took a breath as if to steady himself. “Give me information on Sherlock Holmes and I will give you anything you want”, he said, his voice rough. Her legs trembled with the intensity of that promise. _You know what I want_. She shifted her feet, the heat in her lower belly making standing still unbearable.

_ I can’t _ , she tried to say, her resolve weakening with every second. A finger lay on her lips as he turned to look at her, his mouth too close for her not to stare. “Think about it”, he whispered and smiled before he walked away and snapped his fingers. She heard footsteps in the dark and seconds later, the screech of at least two cars as they left the lot. 

She couldn’t dare to look back behind her at the commotion. As she fell toward her car, her palms landed on the trunk and she took a few deep breaths to steady herself.  _ Oh, I am so fucked,  _ she thought as she hobbled to the front door and slumped in the front seat. 

Her phone buzzed with two texts.

**_Anything_ ** .

**_Think about it._ **


	4. The Boscombe Estate Mystery II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New clues point away from Ginny's prime suspect, she receives a mysterious package, a deadline is imposed and she takes things into her hands. Literally. Teehee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took a while to draft and correct, multiple days in fact. Like Ginny, I'm currently dealing with major events (not the same ones) and hope to settle down soon. Please send me positive thoughts if you like the story. I need the good vibes! :)

Ginny paced around her closed office. _This is ridiculous. He threatens me with knowledge no-one with normal means would have, there were probably three guns pointed at me during that conversation and he offered to bribe me. I withstood all of that, only to cave in at the promise of sex? Have I become this weak? Jesus!_

She threw the file in her hands on the desk, the letters not making sense any more as she struggled to calm her hyperactive brain. _There is attraction and then there is plain stupidity. It’s as if I’m a hormonal 13 year old again who loved Liam Neeson a bit too much._ She kicked the plush armchair in the corner. _Stop it, Ginny._

She dropped into the armchair ungraciously and sank into it. It was inconceivable to think she’d give any information on Sherlock to that redhead. _Any information that he doesn’t have, that is. He already knows Sherlock’s living with me right now._ But that momentary loss of control where lust won against common sense still caused bright hot shame to course through her. She hid her face in her hands. “What the fuck, Ginny? Keep it in your pants. You don’t just fall over for any random dude in a suit who happens to look hot. Whatever happened to your sense of integrity? How do you look at yourself in the mirror? How can you jeopardize your career like that?”, she growled at herself. It was only a second later that she heard someone clear their throat.

She looked up and dropped her hands to her knees. “Yes?”, she said to a nervous-looking Sally. Ginny tried to get out of the armchair in one motion, but ended up falling twice into it before finally making her way out.

“Stupid thing is like quicksand”, she said and walked to her desk.

“Are you okay, boss?”, asked Sally, frowning at her.

“Yeah, I’m fine, there’s just stuff going on..”, Ginny said and shrugged. “Nothing major. What’s up?”

“Umm.. a woman just dropped this off for you. She didn’t leave a name”, said Sally as she dropped a thick A4 sized envelope on her desk. There was no address on it, but a little purple card stuck to the top of the envelope caught her attention. She picked it up and opened it, her cheeks heating with anticipation.

**_A gift, Inspector._ **

Ginny frowned and started at the envelope, dread growing in the pit of her stomach. “Thanks, Sally, I think I know what this is”, she said. She looked up at Sally, who still hadn’t left. “What, do you have an update on the coroner’s report for me?”, she asked.

Sally finally looked up from the envelope back at her. “Yes, we’re supposed to be in Ron’s office in half an hour”.

“Good, I’ll walk with you in a few”, said Ginny, settling back in her chair.

Sally shook her head and left, closing the door behind her.

Ginny gave her a second before ripping the envelope open. _Whatever this is, it’s not going to be good_ . A small stack of photographs and documents spilled out on the desk. She rifled through the photos, her face blank as she realized these were the four women the man had talked about. _Gym teacher, science teacher, Mrs. Johnson, and... what the fuck??_  She gritted her teeth as she saw the fourth woman. _Not this shit again. Lisa Rogers was back in London, then. Why did I put up with this? Ever?_ Andrew was in nearly all of the photos, smiling, cupping the woman’s arse, leaning into an ear, a leer on his face. She gulped as she saw the date and time printed on the back of each photo. _Unbelievable_ . How the redhead had gotten all of this information was beyond her, especially given that they had just met and the dates on the photos went back to six months ago. Even if he was “reaching out” to her because of Sherlock, it didn’t make any sense. It had barely been a fortnight since she’d met Sherlock on the Smith crime scene. Why would he have his minions follow her cheating husband around the country for months before he had any reason to keep tabs on her?

She frowned as she went through the photos again, something nagging at the back of her mind. _There._ A recent photo of the gym teacher, from yesterday if the date was correct. She was walking out of the school gate, wearing a pink tank top and gray capri tights. There was something in her posture that caught Jill’s attention. As she tried to navigate her way through the rows of bicycles in the courtyard, she was shielding her stomach, not with one hand as you might usually, but both. Ginny gaped as awareness hit her and she fell back into her chair, the photo slipping through her grasp and landing on the desk. _Fuck._ She closed her eyes, the disappointment rivaled only by the heady rush of jealousy. _Fuck you, Andrew._

She shook her head as she looked through the stack of paperwork under the photographs. _Manipulative bastard._ Her stomach clenched as she rifled through the divorce petition, red sticky notes pasted where she needed to fill out details and signatures. She picked up the paperwork and photos and stuffed them back in the envelope before dropping them in an empty desk drawer and locking it. She kicked the locked drawer with her right foot, the five loud bangs not enough to shake her out of her funk. The sound of Sally’s heels prompted her to stop kicking her own furniture and walk to the door instead.

“You ready to go, boss?”, the younger woman asked as she opened the door and peeped in.

“Yes”, said Ginny as she gathered her belongings and walked out, trying not to think of the contents of the locked drawer and suppressing the urge to punch a hole in the plaster wall.

* * *

“The posterior third of the left parietal bone and the left half of the occipital bone have been shattered with a heavy blow from a blunt weapon”, said Dr. Kowalczyk as he held McCarthy’s head in his fingers tenderly.

“Could it be the pommel of the gun we found on the scene?”, asked Ginny.

“Well, we tried restructuring the damage, but with bone fragments so small, it was difficult to determine what kind of blunt weapon it was. However, I did find the victim’s bone fragments, blood and tissue on the gun you found. Barring the ongoing theory about your phantom killer, it seems this is your murder weapon”, he said, eyes twinkling over his glasses.

Ginny shot a look at Sally, who was staring at the floor with great interest. _Word sure gets around fast. Phantom killer indeed._

“What about the skin and blood under his fingernails? Do they match Jill’s?”, she asked.

“They do not match Jill’s DNA. Whoever the person was, he hurt them pretty badly, enough to draw blood, likely on the face or torso or both”, said Dr. Kowalczyk. “Moreover, look what we found on his coat. I wonder how Anderson missed this”, he said and tutted as he handed her a sealed bag.

Ginny stared at the two strands of blond hair taped to a black piece of felt. She felt a rush of blood to her head as she noted how similar it was to Alice Turner’s hair color. Her surprise must have shown, because Sally picked up the bag and looked at it, frowning. “What is it?”, she asked.

“I can’t be sure”, she said and turned to the doctor.

“I know the coat was covered in mud from the rain and McCarthy’s own blood, but were there traces of PERC? If so, how old do you think they were?”, she asked.

“PERC?”, asked Sally, confused.

“It’s a chemical used in dry cleaning fabrics”, explained Dr. Kowalczyk. “And yes, we found traces of PERC; they were a week old at the most”.

“So unless our victim meets a lot of blond women with short hair everyday, I’d say the hair is the murderer’s. How many of their household staff are blond, Sally?”, said Ginny.

“Two, Ma’am. And so is Rita Moran, the fifteen year old daughter of the groundskeeper.”, said Sally as she scribbled in her notebook.

Ginny closed her eyes and traced the location of McCarthy’s wound on her own face.

“It’s more probable that he was struck from behind, isn’t it?”, asked Sally.

The doctor nodded.

“Do you have the cast for the third footprint?”, asked Ginny. “Does it tell us anything about the murderer’s height and build?”, asked Ginny. “I mean, I know this isn’t very reliable, but whoever killed him was not crouching on the ground. “We found three sets of footprints, two match Jill’s and James’s, but the third could not be identified”, she said and walked over to the table on the other side of the room, where the doctor was crouched over the a light gray plaster cast, its bottom stained with mud and grass.

“This footprint is of a person who’s of slight build, approximately 5 ft 7 inches to 5 ft 10 inches tall and weighs 70 to 75 kilograms. The footprint you found was behind a tree, you said?”, he asked.

Ginny nodded. _Right behind the oak tree five feet from where Jill had seen the piece of fabric._ She surveyed the footprint. “That’s a rather large foot size for someone slight, don’t you think?”, she asked. “What shoe size is that?”

“You’re one to talk, Inspector”, said the doctor and laughed as he stared at her shoes. “That’s 8 and a half, isn’t it?”.

Sally smirked.

Ginny shook her head. “I’m not of medium build, Ron”, she said.

“You’re _not_ , are you?”, said the doctor, beaming at her.

“Stop flirting with me, Ron”, said Ginny as she laughed. “Your daughter is my age”.

He grimaced. “Ah, don’t remind me. The men she dates, good lord!”, he said and shuddered.

“What shoe size?”, she repeated as she stifled a yawn.

“Interesting you ask. This is a stability shoe; you see the patterns under where the toe box could be? Also note the rather heavy imprint of the heel compared to the rest of the foot”.

“Why would anyone wear stability shoes in the woods? Aren’t those meant for heavy lifting?”, Ginny asked.

“That and stability for someone who has low strength and flat feet. Or it could just be imbalance in someone recovering from an accident or paralysis, where the legs were sedentary for a long time. Plenty of reasons to wear a stability shoe. The shoe size itself is not more than 5, but the supportive padding makes it look larger”, he said.

“Right”, said Ginny and closed her notebook. “Jill wears a size four and is five foot three. She also weighs 62 kilograms. Unless she changed shoes between walking up to James and back, murdering him and then running to the groundskeeper’s, we can be sure they’re not hers”. She rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. “If we accept the possibility that the footprints and hair belong to the killer, statistically..”

“Statistically, it’s more likely to be a woman with that height and weight ratio”, he said.

“Or a really thin man with small feet”, said Sally.

“And taller than James McCarthy. This is confirmed by the angle of his wound”, said Ron.

“One who needs size 5 stability shoes. And there’s a possibility that they know Jill, for why else would they hide a garment before she could see it?”, Ginny said and looked at Sally.

Sally raised her eyebrows. “We can’t test everyone’s shoes on that estate, Ma’am”, she said.

“Yes we can, but we don’t need to. We know exactly whose shoes we need. The three people with blond hair that you mentioned, plus Jill and the Turners”.

“The Turners?”, asked Sally.

“Yes. It’s time we paid the Turner house a visit”, said Ginny as they walked out the lab into the cold, bleak corridor.

“Thanks, Ron!”, she said over her shoulder as they closed the door.

“Three days and we still don’t have a likely suspect”, said Ginny as she sneaked out a cigarette and lit it.

Sally covered her nose with her scarf. “Yes we do, it’s Jill McCarthy”, she said, confused.

“I don’t think she did it”, said Ginny. “I know, I know”, she said and shook her head before exhaling smoke at the ceiling. “This is intuition speaking again, but there was no doubt or hesitation in what she told us that day”

“Well, she did hide the fact that her father harassed her because she’s a lesbian. That’s most likely why they argued. Why hide something so important?”, asked Sally.

“Not everyone likes to talk about what a douche their father is, Sal”, said Ginny as she lingered on her next drag. “She hid that information even though she suspected Alice would speak up, so there’s probably more to it than just the blatant homophobia.  I know she wasn’t lying, I know it”.

“Either that, or she’s the best liar I’ve ever met”, said Sally, hugging her coat closer as they stepped into the underground car park.

“You’re so skeptical of people, Sal”, said Ginny, laughing quietly.

“I’m a homicide cop! I have to be!”, said Sally, turning around and staring at Ginny.

Ginny sighed and took a long drag. “What’s your favorite beer?”, she asked Sally.

“What?”, the younger woman said, confused.

“Beer, what’s your favorite?”.

“Smuttynose IPA, why?”

“And how long did it take you to determine that Smuttynose is your favorite?”.

Sally shrugged. “Ten, twelve years, I think. Used to love light wheat beers before, but not any more. What’s your point?”.

“My point is, it took you a decade to know what kind of beer you like. How long do you think it will take you to develop and trust your instincts?”, she asked and stubbed the dying embers with her right foot.

“I rely on facts-”.

“I’m not asking you to throw facts out of the window. I’m asking you to know when a person is or isn’t lying. Those “instincts” are based on facts and previous experiences, not some miraculous sixth sense. Now, I’ll can the lecture, but humor me. Anyone can commit a crime of passion, but not everyone has the means, motive and opportunity. All together, not in isolation”.

“Jill had all three. The murder weapon, her father’s homophobia and harassment and the seclusion of the woods where no-one would see her murder him”, said Sally.

“Murder weapon, sure. Motive, unlikely but not out of the question. The homophobic harassment had persisted over several years, it wasn’t recent. So what sparked such a fire in her that she attacked him? Was it something he said? Or did? Also, the opportunity is the worst of the three. At least fifteen people on that estate saw her at various points during the day and two people witnessed the argument they had. She could have arrived home in the dead of night, strangled him in his sleep and slunk off if she needed the perfect opportunity”.

Sally frowned. “But she’d be the only suspect if that happened. This way, we still have an opening for the other tall blond killer we’re looking at. She’s sending us on a very convincing wild goose chase”, she said.

“So according to you she’s clever enough to orchestrate the sequence of events to plant enough doubts in our head but stupid enough to let multiple witnesses see her and get the victim’s blood on a weapon registered in her own name? You’re accusing her of being a genius and a careless idiot at the same time, Sal. She can’t be both of those things, not at the same time at least”, said Ginny. “Mind you, all this is based on my instinct that she is telling the truth. If she is indeed the cold-hearted liar you suspect she is, all of this falls apart”.

“We need to explore this phantom killer theory, especially with the new evidence in light. Let’s get everyone together at six tomorrow in the incident room to go over our plan of action”, she said to Sally, whose face crumpled.

“But Ginny..”, Sally whined and put her bag in her car.

“Don’t Ginny me”, Ginny said and smiled as she walked to her own car.

“It’s ten thirty right now!”.

“I know. Shouldn’t you be driving faster? The traffic to Wandsworth is shitty, even at this hour”, she said and sneered, ignoring the scowl on her PC’s face. As she got into her own car, she looked in the rear-view mirror, almost wishing for a long-legged mystery man in a fancy suit to be lingering about. She exhaled slowly as she reminded herself of his many qualities. _Stalker. Possible mafia figure. Drug lord?_  Her shoulders slumped and she started the car as she tried hard not to be disappointed. _To be fair, I thought he was attractive even before he opened his mouth and became Supervillain Incarnate. Conclusion, I’m not attracted solely to creepos and am thus not a lost cause._

She frowned as she thought of the empty, cold apartment. _Well, that’s if Sherlock isn’t there again tonight._ For the past two nights, he’d been returning at odd hours, smelling of garbage the first time and of formaldehyde on the second. “I’m on a case!”, he’d replied angrily to her questions. She’d taken comfort in the fact that he was not high and wasn’t bringing strange people back home and gone back to sleep. Even the strange sounds and smells his ‘experiments’ produced were better than the silence of the place. She switched on the radio and tried to dismiss the gym teacher's smiling, simpering face from her mind. The betrayal was like a kick in the stomach. She punched her steering wheel to honk at an errant driver who had cut into her lane and and started singing along to the song on the radio. “Is there anybody out there who is lost and hurt and lonely too?”, she yelled out of the open window as the breeze whipped at her hair. Ginny shook her head, singing as she drove off into the dark.

_Are they bleeding all your colors into one?_

_And if you come undone_

_As if you've been run through_

_Some catapult it fired you_

_You wonder if your chance will ever come_

_Or if you're stuck in square one_

* * *

She rolled over and adjusted her position for the thirtieth time that night. The exhaustion made sure she couldn’t keep her eyes open longer than ten seconds, but sleep refused to visit. _What hellish punishment is this?_

She shook her head, going through the long list of remedies in her head. _A cup of milk. Rosemary. Alcohol_ , her mind supplied. _Useless. They’ve never worked in the past._ What else had she tried during college that had actually worked? Her eyes opened wide as she realized what it was, the air instantly escaping her lungs the next moment. “Fat chance”, she said and rolled over again. _There’s no chance you’re having sex tonight._ Not just because Sherlock could come home any moment and hear her, but also because there was no-one she could contact for a booty call. Not that she had ever done booty calls, the whole concept had sounded so awkward and uncomfortable to her that she’d always resorted to sex in a relationship, and none when she was single.

_But who needs someone when you have.. Ahem.._ “Oh great, I’m being skittish even when I’m talking to myself”, she said and threw the covers away before dragging herself to the bathroom. _A cold shower, that’s what you need. Especially with all the thoughts you’ve been having about long-fingered hands and pale, freckled skin._ Ginny sighed as her pulse raced. She took off the long jersey she was wearing and stepped under the warm jet of water, securing her locks in a shower cap. _I’ll be here for hours if I washed my hair right now._

She turned the water warmer and scrubbed herself with the body wash, shivering when she reached between her legs. _Oh come on, Ginny. If he wasn’t a murderer or a creepy stalker, would you have sex with him?_ , she asked herself, her fingers stroking with more force on each brush. She panted as the sight unfolded in her mind, of all those layers being taken off, one by one, until nothing remained but an expanse of gleaming skin the color of cream, that red hair and his hard, glistening cock.

_Fuck yes,_ she thought, all capacity for rational thought long gone. _What wouldn’t I give to have you here stroking me, pinching a nipple between two fingers? Have that mouth suck on my breast until you left angry bruises all over?_

“Fuck!”, she cried, as she angled her wrist to enter herself with two fingers, the other hand working her left nipple until a jolt went through her. She bent her right knee and rested her foot on the edge, making sure she could really ride her fingers.

_I’d grip that red hair in my hands and hold you there on your knees till you used that wicked tongue on me and fucked me with your fingers._ “Christ”, she hissed, fingers urgent as she fell back against the cold tiles. _You’d look up at me with those blue eyes as you tongue-fucked me, and I’d lose it right there. I’d come so hard you’d need to pin my legs to the wall so I wouldn’t fall over._

She recognized the clench in her muscles, the waves spreading through her and held onto the handrail with an iron grip. She was so slick by now there was no need for the foamy shower gel. As she pressed down onto her clitoris with a thumb and the bathroom filled with sounds of skin slapping against skin, she bent lower, trying to reach just the right spot. “Unnghh..”, she growled. In two minutes, she was shaking hard, her spine jerking and her hand slowing until she could take no more. She found herself on the floor of the tub, lying on her side, her knees pressed against her stomach. _Fuck. I haven’t come this hard since.._ She paused for the blood to make its way back to her brain. _I don’t even remember. Oh, fuck. That’s not a good sign. Married for four years and no orgasms? No wonder you’re so angry all the time,_ she thought and grinned as she rinsed herself with cold water before stepping out of the tub.

Her eyelids were drooping as she toweled herself off and put on a cotton jersey before falling into bed. She tried to dismiss thoughts of wet, red hair and a glistening mouth as exhaustion overtook her. She could almost smell the cologne on him if she leaned into his neck and put her lips on the slender, sharp edge of his clavicle. A satisfied grunt escaped her before she finally succumbed to the heady pull of sleep.

* * *

The next morning, she awoke with fond memories of her tryst with herself, although when she stepped out of her room dressed and ready to go, it took Sherlock one look to deduce her nocturnal activities. Embarrassed, she rolled her eyes, ignored his dry-heaving and made herself some coffee before texting Sally.

**_Let’s meet at six thirty instead, need to fill out some paperwork first._ **

She shot another text to Andrew, before she lost the will to do so.

**_You wanted to talk? Let’s talk on Sunday at 9 am. Luna Cafe near King’s Cross station._ **

She sent another text to Sara.

**_Oi, I need your help. When can we meet?_ **

“It’s too late for you to fantasize about your husband, Lestrade. I thought you were done with him”, said Sherlock as she put toast on her own plate and passed him some.

“Who said I was fantasizing about him?”, she said and waggled her eyebrows at him.

He regarded her suspiciously, possibilities running through his brain at the speed of light.

“Liam Neeson?”, he asked.

“Not this time, no”, she said.

“Anderson?”.

It was Ginny’s turn to heave. “Fuck no”, she said and took a large gulp of coffee.

“Well, I’m out”, he said and folded his hands under his chin. “I only know of Liam Neeson because I found a rolled-up poster in your dresser. Subtle, Lestrade”.

Her cheeks reddened as she recalled how naked Liam was in that poster. “Wait, do you actually know who Bruce Wayne is, then?”, she asked, frowning.

Sherlock shrugged. “No. I got it from the wallpaper on your reception computer”, he said to her surprised face, inspecting the toast before crushing it in his fingers. He dropped the toast dust into her coffee mug and stirred the mixture as he set a stopwatch on his phone.

“That was my cup of coffee”, she said grumpily.

“Umm”, he responded, squinting at his phone.

“Oh, someone got in touch for information on you, by the way”, she said, suddenly realizing that she’d never told Sherlock this.

“Who?”, he asked, frowning.

Her phone ring interrupted her. It was Sara. “Sorry, need to take this first”, she said, and walked into her room.

“Hi Ginny!”, Sara piped up, too cheerful for five am on a Wednesday morning.

“Hey Sara, good morning. You sound happy”, Ginny said, munching on the last of her toast.

“Well, it’s my last day off so I just went for a run”.

Ginny groaned. “Why do you have to be so put-together in my face? Especially right after your vacation?”, she said.

“Well, what’s gotten your face in a frown? You don’t usually text me so early in the morning. Is everything alright?”, Sara asked.

“Yeah, just..”, Ginny said, pausing. “I’m sorry to ask to meet on your day off, but I needed help with my divorce petition”, she said and held her breath, cringing.

“Oh, honey, of course!”, said Sara, her voice full of concern. “Anything you need. Are you alright? What brought this on?”.

“Lots of things”, said Ginny. “I’ll tell you when we meet”.

“Okay, come over tonight after work, we’ll sort it out”.

Ginny stared at the floor, surprised. “That’s it? No judgement, no scolding?”, she asked, incredulous.

“Don’t be stupid, Ginny. I would never judge you. Well, maybe for watching Bridget Jones a hundred times, but at the most, I’d give you a rap on the knuckles. Besides, what’s the point of having a divorce attorney for a best friend if you can’t hit her up for legal advice? I hate that asshole husband of yours so much that this will easily be my favorite case!”, she said and laughed.

Ginny giggled. “Okay, you psycho”, she said. “I’ll see you tonight”.

“Bring beer”, said Sara.

“Always”, said Ginny, smiling as she ended the call.

* * *

Her DCI was sitting in her office when Ginny got in at 6:05. “Oh hello, Guv”, she said, looking at the senior officer with worry. “What brings you here?”, she asked.

“Lots of things, but the Boscombe murder in particular”, the older woman said, a mysterious smile on her face.

“What about it?”, Ginny asked.

“I’m told your prime suspect isn’t your prime suspect any more”.

Ginny grimaced. Whoever the source on her team was, she needed to find them and end this. “Well, we still have her prints and the victim’s blood on the weapon registered in her name, so I wouldn’t say that. But there is new forensic evidence suggesting someone else was present on the crime scene as well at around the same time, so we’re visiting the estate and interviewing people matching Dr. Kowalczyk’s description. Even if this person didn’t murder McCarthy, he or she may have witnessed the murder” she said, aware of the white lie and the glint in Jane’s eyes.

“How long do you mean to hold Miss McCarthy?”, Jane asked as she picked up the minion stress toy on Ginny’s desk.

“If we don’t find conclusive evidence today or tomorrow, we can’t hold her after 9 pm tomorrow”.

“Do you think you will?”.

“Yes, I’m confident we will”, said Ginny.

“You have until 9 pm tomorrow, Ginny”, said Jane as she got up and put her coat on. “After that, if you don’t have a suspect or press charges against Jill McCarthy, the Superintendent wants me to take over”.

Ginny gritted her teeth and clutched the stress toy in her fist. “Yes, Guv”, she said.

“Do _not_ disappoint me. You have that DCI promotion to think about, after all”, said Jane and winked before stepping out.

* * *

It was a long ride to the Boscombe estate, made better only by the Coldplay marathon on the radio. Ginny stretched as she got out of the car, admiring the surreal view of Turner House. It was a nineteenth century Victorian style house, with eight bedrooms and enormous grounds behind it that led down toward the Boscombe pool and shooting range. They walked up to the stone steps to the huge oak door. A butler opened it before she could knock and greeted them with a stiff bow. “I’m Nichols, Ma’am”, he said. “You must be Inspector Lestrade and PC Donovan”, he said. led her and Sally to the cavernous living room. _6 feet tall, graying black hair, feet size..10?_ , thought Ginny as she followed him to the seating area. Ginny noticed the white sheets draped over pieces of furniture in surrounding rooms and the starkly decorated living room itself.

The smell of medicine pervaded the air, making Ginny look around and step into an adjoining room, where she found an accessible hospital bed and trolleys loaded with syringes and vials. There was even a stand for a saline.

“This is Mrs. Turner’s room when Alice is visiting”, she heard a voice behind her that made her jump.

She turned around to smile apologetically at the butler. “Apologies, it’s very quiet, so I thought I’d go exploring”, she said and stepped out to the living room, where Sally was still sitting on the couch where she’d left her, frowning at her.

“Miss Turner will be downstairs in two minutes, Ma’am. Is there anything I can do for you in the meantime?”, he asked stiffly.

“Sure, you can answer a few questions for us, Mr. Nichols”, said Ginny as she opened her notebook and sat down. “Did you attend to three calls on the landline at 11:00 am, 11:04 am and 11:10 am this past Saturday?”

Nichols frowned for a moment before his eyes widened with realization. The look quickly disappeared as he looked at the floor and answered, his voice clipped. “No, Ma’am, I was attending to Mrs. Turner. The nurse needed a hand moving her, so I was upstairs at the time”.

Ginny frowned. “Alright, so you didn’t attend those calls”, she said and scribbled in her notebook.

“No, Ma’am”, he said, chin drawn up again.

“Did you attend the two calls on the landline at 2:10 pm and 2:22 pm?”, she asked, aware of Sally’s confused glance at her.

“No”, said Nichols, confusion furrowing his brow.

“Are you certain?”, she asked.

“Yes, Ma’am”, he said.

“Do you remember where you were during that time? Do you recall it ringing in the living room?”.

“I don’t remember. I could have been in the kitchen”, he said, looking back and forth from her to Sally. “No! I was on the grounds, attending to the gardener’s questions”.

“Are you sure? Could we have a chat with the gardener you spoke to?”, Ginny asked, making another note.

He licked his lips and stared at her notebook. “I’m not sure, Ma’am, I could be anywhere. I handle a lot of duties here”.

Ginny nodded. “So you have no idea where you were during a 30 minute window, but you are certain where you were for the fifteen minutes between 11:00 am and 11:15 am on the same day”, she said and looked up at him.

Nichols wiped the bead of sweat rolling down his brow with a hand that moved with a sudden jerk. He clasped his hands behind his back and stared back at her, lips pursed.

“Who attends to the door and phone calls when you’re assisting the medical staff, Mr. Nichols?”, asked Sally.

He shifted on his feet and gulped, opening his mouth and hesitating.

“Hello Inspector!”, said a voice behind them as Ginny heard footsteps on the large, winding staircase to the upper level.

They turned to find Alice Turner trotting towards them, blond hair shining in the sunlight streaming in through the window, her pink sports shoes scraping on the stone floor.

“What’s happened to Nichols? Are you alright?”, she asked him, frowning at his pale face.

“Mr. Nichols”, said Ginny, before he could scurry away. “Would you mind packing up every shoe in this house? Including the staff's as well”, she said and turned to Alice.

“We’re trying to eliminate people who usually take that route so we can confirm which ones are the murderer’s”, she explained. “Of course”, said Alice, “I can help him do that”.

“No”, said Ginny and stood up. “If you would be so kind as to take us up to your mother, that would be very helpful. It’s critical that we speak to her”.

“Of course”, said Alice and turned to Sally, frowning.

“PC Donovan, Miss Turner”, said Sally and extended a hand.

Alice shook it, smiling.

“I’ll go get mum ready, she was feeling better last night so I’m hoping she can talk to us for a few minutes”, said Alice and left them in the living room.

“What’s this about the 2 pm calls, Ma’am? The call logs don’t show-”, Sally said, as soon as Alice was out of earshot.

“That’s because there were no 2 pm calls. I just said that to throw him off. He was very sure that he didn’t attend to or remember the 11 am calls, wasn’t he? I wonder why”, she said and sat down, flipping through her cell phone.

“Great, forensics has reached the McCarthy cottage. They’re setting up their gear to test the shoes in the cottage. We’ll have them pick up the shoes and take them to the cottage to get them tested”, she told Sally, who nodded.

“What’s so important about the calls though?”, the younger woman asked.

Ginny leaned forward. “Someone from the McCarthy cottage made three calls to the Turner house on Saturday morning, the day of the murder. It can’t be Jill, because three people have confirmed that she arrived at noon. It could be one of the servants who made the call, but do you remember Jill saying James was surprised and irritated when she showed up? I mean yes, they fought, but it’s an unusual greeting for your child who often visits home from college, isn’t it?”, she said, lowering her voice to a whisper.

“Yes, but he was known to have a foul temper”, said Sally.

“No, not always. If that were the case Jill would have never found it surprising or discussed it so extensively with us. My guess is, he was waiting to meet someone from Turner House. That's why he had called the house right before he left for the Pool. But Jill got there before the other person could. For some reason, he never mentioned this meeting to her and instead launched into a tirade, possibly to drive her away. Why? Why couldn’t he just tell Jill who he was meeting? Was this the murderer?”, she asked.

“If this was the murderer, then they might have overheard the argument and waited _behind the oak tree!_ ”, Sally whispered, eyes widening as she realized that the oak tree lay right after the hedges dividing the Turner house grounds from Boscombe Pool and the clearing.

“I’d say we’re looking for a blond woman who fits our height and build description and has barely healed scratches on their face or torso. Don’t forget the special shoes”, she said, smiling as Alice made her way to the top of the stairs and beckoned them to join her.

Sally’s face was ashen. “How many people do we know that fit that description? What if there was an accomplice?”, she asked in a low voice as she took a cautious step forward.

“Definitely one, possibly two. As to the accomplice, we should question Nichols again as soon as we’re done interviewing Mrs. Turner”, said Ginny, checking automatically for her taser in her coat pocket as she ascended the stairs. “Yup, we’re in the vicinity of our murderer”, she said as a chill went up her spine.


	5. The Boscombe Estate Mystery III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ginny trips and falls on her way to catch their murderer, Mira makes an appearance, Andrew gets his comeuppance and an embarrassing secret is revealed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter would have been finished much earlier had there not been a whirlwind end to last week. I found out that I'm going to move to another city for a new job, so I'm cleaning out my possessions and trying to write in the rush of apt hunting/packing/selling and giving away my stuff. Aaarrgghh. But it's totally worth it. Trust me.
> 
> Note: Beta is an affectionate term used in Hindi. Its literal meaning is 'my child'.

Cecilia Turner was a stately woman with sharp green eyes that inspected Ginny and Sally before greeting them. The smile on her face didn’t reach her eyes. Instead, it made the wrinkled, wan skin stretch taut over razor sharp cheekbones. Her wispy blond hair was the same color as her daughter’s, barely covering the pale skin clinging to the bones of her skull, where blue-green capillaries stood out in contrast. Ginny noted the bony arms that peeked out of the dark green shirt she wore. Angry red patches smarted where a nurse had tried to find a vein to inject the IV needle. A bottle green scarf was wound tightly around her neck and she fidgeted with its frilly edge that rubbed against her jaw. Before she dropped her hands to the breakfast tray, her nails gleamed in the light, the yellow stains now hidden as she knotted an embroidered lace handkerchief in her hands. Her legs were propped up on a footstool and covered with a plush red blanket. Her chest shook as she took a deep breath and exhaled, the wheezing sound increasing as Alice stepped into the room and Cecilia shot a brief look at her. As Ginny met her eyes and smiled, Cecilia’s long, bony, fingers trembled around the cup of steaming tea that Alice had placed in their grasp, making the spoon chime against the ceramic erratically.

Ginny kept the smile on her face and held her gaze as she sat down on the sofa. “Mrs. Turner”, she said. “Thank you for meeting us. I’m glad to hear you’re feeling better”.

“You didn’t leave me a choice, did you, Inspector?”, she said, the voice stronger than what Ginny would expect. “Alice says your office has been calling twice a day since Saturday”.

“Yes, it’s been difficult to get hold of you. We’ve spoken to everyone else on the estate except you and we were hoping you would have some answers for us”, Ginny said, looking pointedly at her legs before staring into the green eyes again, that widened just a fraction.

“What kind of questions?”, Cecilia asked as she put her cup down on the breakfast tray, her hands still clutching the handkerchief.

“Where were you on Saturday between the hours of 10 am and 3 pm?”, asked Sally.

“I was at home, in this very room”, she said, unflinching. “I was getting a chemo session that day, it’s all in the doctor’s calendar already. Dr. Culver has already answered these questions on her end, I don’t see why I should-”.

“Police procedure, Ma’am”, said Ginny and opened her notebook. “I have a list of questions for you, but we’ll be done here soon”, she said.

“What have you found until now?”, asked Cecilia as she shot a sidelong glance at her daughter.

“We know the killer is blond, possibly a woman, wears specialty athletic shoes and had a personal grudge against Mr. McCarthy. Also, they were scheduled to meet the victim that day. Pity James didn’t keep a record of his itinerary or we wouldn’t have to go through all this trouble”, she said, shrugging her shoulders.

Cecilia licked her lips, her hands tearing at the lace kerchief as she opened and closed her mouth multiple times. Alice was gaping at Ginny and Sally. Her right foot that had been fidgeting now hung limp, the spoon in her fingers in danger of slipping from her grasp and falling into the delicate ceramic sugar jar. Cecilia’s hand was gentle as she pried the spoon away from her daughter’s hand and laid it down on the tray.

“What kind of personal grudge?”, she asked as she held Alice’s hand in her own. Ginny noticed the unflinching grip and raised an eyebrow.

“Why don’t you tell me, Mrs. Turner?”, said Ginny. _You’re doing a fine job of hiding, aren't you_ , she thought as she saw anger flash across the old woman’s features. “You’ve known James for nearly twenty-two years, you’ve known his daughter for all of her life. You must know that Jill would be put into jail for this, considering how conveniently she has been framed”.

“She won’t be if you lot do your job”, Cecilia said, her tight voice whipping through the air and startling them all.

“Mum”, Alice said with reproach, “they are doing everything they can”.

Cecilia ignored her and looked at Sally as she avoided Ginny’s gaze.

“Do you think it is someone on the estate, Inspector? Have you checked all the shoes we handed over?”, asked Alice.

“We’re checking them right now”, said Sally. “We’ll have the results in about two hours”.

All of a sudden, Cecilia’s eyes drooped as she swayed perilously, clutching at her blanket and gritting her teeth. Alice stood up with a start and put her hands on Cecilia's shoulders. “Mum”, she said with a shaky voice, “It’s alright, let’s put you to bed. It’s time to set her IV again, she’s been fighting it all morning. I need to get her back into bed”, said Alice as she put her hands under Cecilia’s armpits, ignoring her mother’s whines of protest. “Inspector, will you please ring the bell for Nichols? It’s right behind you”.

Ginny sprang to her feet and held Cecilia’s feet. “Please, let me help. It’ll take him a while”, she said, her stomach twisting with guilt. _If it turns out that she didn’t know anything, Ginny, you’ll be responsible for killing an innocent woman. Who is terminal._

Cecilia shook her head harder as she felt Ginny’s hands grip her shoes, her mouth trying to form words but failing, a low pitched moan escaping her instead. Ginny frowned and tugged the red blanket off her feet as Alice tried to hold her steady. She ignored Sally’s audible gasp as she saw the green shoes. The faint smell of detergent lingered about them and the white area an inch above the high padded soles shone brighter than the rest of the shoe, which was dusty brown. Ginny looked up at Alice, who was frowning at her in confusion. “What is it?”, she asked.

Ginny shook her head and slid an arm under Cecilia’s knees and another under her upper back before straightening her knees, a huff of air escaping her as she grew accustomed to the weight. She took a tentative step forward, grateful that her charge had stopped struggling. _That makes this much easier_ , she thought as she proceeded towards the bedroom. _One breath, two breaths, six more steps.._ She thought, concentrating on her keeping her core tight and not dropping Cecilia. A sob wrecked through the old woman’s body and startled Ginny, so much that her right foot tripped over the raised edge of the bedroom floor. She yelped and tried to clutch harder at Cecilia’s arms, but it was too late. The old woman had lurched out of her grasp and landed on the floor, miraculously, on her own two sturdy legs, all signs of the tremors gone. The three women gaped at her as she straightened from her half crouch and wiped the tears running down her cheeks. “Mum”, said Alice, anger and relief thrown together on her face, “You can walk on your own. Why, how-?”, she asked in a strangled voice.

Ginny turned to Alice, frowning as everything fell into place in her mind. “Alice”, she said, “Can you give us a few minutes with your mum?”, she asked, only to get a confused look in return.

“Alice, dear, be a darling and leave us alone”, said Cecilia, as she hobbled to her bed and sat down, scrabbling at the sheets to pull herself up.

“Now”, Cecilia said as she lay down and stared at the ceiling.

Alice turned on her heel and left the room, wiping her face as she closed the door behind her.

“Would you like your attorney to be present, Mrs. Turner? You don’t have to send Alice away”, said Ginny as she stood by the foot of Cecilia’s bed.

“No”, said Cecilia, still staring resolutely at the ceiling. Ginny nodded at Sally, who punched a button on the recorder in her hand.

“We're starting the interview of Cecilia Turner in connection with the murder of James McCarthy of McCarthy Cottage on the Boscombe estate. She has refused to have a lawyer or her daughter present during this conversation. I have to warn you”, said Ginny as she took a seat beside her bed, “You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence”.

Cecilia nodded and gestured feebly to a pillow at her feet. Sally put it under her shoulders so she was propped up. “Do you have children, Inspector Lestrade?”, she asked, her voice brittle as she looked at Ginny with pleading eyes.

“No, I do not”, said Ginny.

A sad smile adorned Cecilia’s face, one that reached her eyes where more hot tears welled up. “Then you will never know what it means to sacrifice everything for the sake of love”, she said.

Ginny smiled. “I have a mother who did that, over and over again”, she said. “I’m here because of her”.

Cecilia’s face crumpled as she nodded and wiped her face. She accepted the handkerchief Sally handed her and took a minute. “Good”, she said, “then you will understand why I killed James McCarthy”, she said in a thick voice.

“Why did you kill him, Cecilia?”, Ginny asked.

“He had always been a bastard, in his business relationships and towards my husband. My husband’s parents were good friends with James’, so he tried his best to help James when he didn’t have a job. He even gave him the cottage to live in when he got married. And how did he repay it? By doing nothing but gambling his time and money away. He worked as a carpenter when he felt like it. We were the ones who put food on their table, not to mention making sure Jill went to school and was as far away from him as possible”, she said and stopped for breath.

“The day his wife died was the day he changed. He cried openly in front of us, I still remember”, she said, shaking her head. “He vowed to me and Mr. Turner that he would raise Jill to be a studious girl like Alice. He would work longer and make sure she could afford to go to school and university, wherever she liked. And that he did, to his credit”.

“But then, many years later, he found out about Alice and Jill. He found them together in her room and knew instantly what was going on. He lost his temper and screamed at Jill; Alice said she’d never seen him so angry. At first I tried to keep Jill here as much as possible. I tried to talk to him, but he threatened to harm me and Alice if I ever spoke to him again. I hired personal security for us for a while and still tried talking to him. That’s when he began hitting Jill. She’d come here crying, his hand imprinted on her cheek, angry welts on her back. I threatened to report him to the police, but Jill would never agree to testify against him. She was an adult now, so there was nothing I could do. You must believe me, there was really nothing I could have done”, she said, her hands clawing at the sheets. Her desperate eyes seeked theirs out, the anguish in them making Ginny clutch her hand and give it a reassuring squeeze.

“I knew he’d began gambling again and losing a lot of money. Now that Jill was nearly done with university, she was financially secure. I could have thrown him out but I would never do that to Jill. She grew up in that house; she would be heartbroken. So I said nothing to her about his debts and she never knew”.

“What happened then?”, asked Ginny.

“A month ago, Alice joined a new position at this defense contractor company, Bacarat Systems. She was in a very sensitive role in the nuclear energy research division. She told me how particular they are about the people they hire. They run thorough background checks on their employees, for political positions, fundraising activities and sexual orientation. They wanted Alice so badly that they conducted their checks and hired her within a week, a record for any employee there”, she said, the pride visible on her face as she raised her chin.

“James and I had not been on speaking terms for many years, so imagine my surprise when he called me three weeks ago to discuss certain items in his possession. He spoke of how intelligent Alice was, how much she deserved her job and how unfortunate it was that she would no longer work there anymore”, the older woman said.

Ginny frowned. “What do you mean? Was he blackmailing you?”, she asked.

Cecilia nodded and closed her eyes, clasping Ginny’s hand with all the force she could muster. “Yes”, she breathed. “He said he had photographs of Jill and Alice, compromising photographs that he had stolen from Jill’s room. It was just a matter of sending those to her new company or posting them on the internet. Alice would be fired, her reputation torn to shreds, all the hard work she had put in reduced to nothing. And so would Jill. She had just graduated, she didn’t need that kind of attention when she was beginning to look for jobs. The two of them had finally become independent and he was about to drag them down, just because he needed money. What kind of parent would do that to their own child?”, she asked, her angry snarl dissolving into a coughing fit that shook her torso. Ginny helped her to lie back on the cushions once it had passed.

“He demanded 5,000 pounds in return for not putting the photos online and sending them to Alice’s company”, the older woman said and pointed to the foot of the bed. “You will find the package under the mattress”, she told Sally, who picked up the corner of the mattress and dug under it with one hand. When she withdrew her hand, a bright yellow package was clasped in it, a small stack of photos visible through the opening and blood spattered across the yellow paper.

Ginny sighed, her heart heavy as she nodded at Sally. The PC put on her gloves and gingerly held out each photo to verify it. Ginny counted thirteen in total. Her eyebrows were raised as Sally pulled out a thick stack of notes from inside the package. She looked back at Cecilia, who was shaking and clutching at her own throat.

Ginny handed her a glass of water and tipped it toward her mouth till she had taken a few sips. “We have found a packet containing said photographs in the suspect's possession. It also contained cash in the amount of 5,000 pounds", Ginny said for the tape. "What went wrong, Cecilia?, she asked, once the older woman had begun breathing normally again.

“I walked down to the pool to meet him with the money in my coat pocket. I got there at 11.55 am, five minutes before our appointed time. He was already there at the shooting range and I nearly approached him, but then suddenly, I saw Jill walking toward him. I didn’t know why she was there, so I hid behind an oak tree and waited for them to finish talking. I could see James was surprised to see her too. I hoped that he wouldn’t tell her what he was up to, I’d rather have paid him and never have the children know what he had done. But the more I heard of the insults he hurled at Jill, the more my blood boiled. He was insulting my daughter too, the greedy homophobic mongrel”, she said, her thin lips twisted in a snarl, her chest vibrating with anger. “I knew I had to end this, right there. I waited for Jill to leave and sneaked up on him from behind. Lucky for me, she had dropped her gun on the ground. I used my coat sleeves to pick it up and hurled it at his head. He turned around as he screamed, and for a wild second I thought he would call for Jill and scream my name, so I hit him again and dug in his coat pockets for the envelope. I didn’t even notice the scratches until I got back home and looked in the mirror”, she said as she unwrapped the green scarf from her throat to reveal four gashes on each side of her throat, yellow with iodine stains. Ginny gulped as the strong smell of iodine pervaded her senses.

“Did you drop your coat on the ground as you ran back to the tree?”, Ginny asked.

The older woman frowned as she tried to remember. “In our struggle, the coat had come off and fell down as I ran. Jill nearly tripped over it as she ran back. She had seen me so many times in that coat that I knew she would recognize it. As soon as her back was to me, I picked it up and went back to my hiding place”, she said.

“What happened then?”, she asked.

“I walked back to the house and left them in the clearing. She held him until he died, the foolish child”, said Cecilia as her eyes welled up with tears yet again. “The obstinate, naive child. I never meant for her to get in trouble. She shouldn’t have run back to him”. She hiccuped, her face red and blotchy and her voice thick as she wiped her face with the handkerchief. “They’re both safe now”, she said and sobbed. “He can’t do anything to them now”.

“Cecilia”, said Ginny, “What was Nichols’ involvement in this? What did Alice know?”, she asked, her voice soft as Cecilia sobbed into the kerchief.

“Neither Alice nor Jill knew anything”, she said. “Nichols picked up the three calls that James made, but James disconnected the calls as soon as he heard Nichols’ voice and not mine. Nichols also saw me when I came back from the pool, but I never discussed what had happened with him. He helped me dress the cuts and stop the bleeding. He cleaned the shoes when I was asleep; I didn't tell him to. He doesn’t know anything else, the poor man”, she said, her eyes drooping as exhaustion took over her.

“The doctor has given me a week to live, Inspector. I couldn’t bring myself to tell Alice, but my disease is progressing fast. Arrest me if you wish; I do not care if I go to prison for my last days. My only request is that you see to it that Jill and Alice never find out about why I had to kill James”, Cecilia said, her voice rasping in her throat as her nails dug into Ginny’s palm and she turned her head to look at the younger woman.

Ginny nodded. “We now conclude the interview of Cecilia Turner, at 3.40 pm on Wednesday, the 5th of November”, she said into the tape recorded before switching it off.

“Cecilia Turner, I’m arresting you for the murder of James McCarthy”, she said, her voice a hoarse whisper. She blinked at Cecilia, who smiled as she fell asleep, the wrinkles around her eyes thrown in relief as they crinkled. Ginny shook her head at Sally, who had taken her handcuffs out, her face conflicted.

“Do me a favor, will you, Sal?”, she said, as she blinked back the tears in her own eyes. “Get Cecilia’s medical records from her doctor and get Alice and Nichols’ statements again, in light of the new information. Take care not to mention the specifics. I would also send these shoes to Forensics and get samples from both the Turners for Ron. I need to make some calls”.

Sally nodded and picked up the recorder before she left. “Thank you”, Ginny called over her shoulder as she dialed. Ginny did not miss the relief in Jane's voice as she congratulated her. “Let’s get those records from her doctor soon, Lestrade. And I’m sending over two constables right now to relieve you and Donovan. I expect the paperwork to be on my desk tomorrow afternoon. And Ginny, congratulations”, she said.

Ginny thanked her in a flat voice, trying hard to ignore the headache her sinuses threatened her with. “Thank you, Guv. I will see you tomorrow at 2 with the completed paperwork”, she said and disconnected the call before dialing again.

Ginny gritted her teeth as she heard the woman on the other end. “Hello beta!”, Mira’s cheerful voice crackled through the phone.

“Hi, Maa”, Ginny said in a wobbly voice, ashamed of the tears running down her cheeks.

“Oh no. Ginny, what’s happened?”, Mira asked, sounding worried.

“Nothing, nothing”, Ginny said and sniffed, stepping out to the verandah and closing the door behind her. “I just missed you, that’s all. So I thought I’d call you”.

“Then you should call me every day like you promised, you silly girl. But you don’t and then you cry because you miss me”, said Mira. Ginny could hear her smile in her voice.

“You’re a busy woman, Miss Aptey, I wouldn’t want to bother you”, she teased and wiped her face with her sleeve.

“Oh no, are you wiping your nose with your sleeve again? You’re thirty-four, Ginny! You have to stop that! It's such a dirty habit”, her mother scolded.

“See, and you wonder why I don’t call you often”.

Mira giggled in response. Ginny heard the whistle of the pressure cooker in the background and frowned. Why was her mother cooking dinner at 4 pm on a weekday?

“So who’s coming over?”, she asked, suspicious.

“What? Oh, no-one”, Mira lied.

“Maa..”.

“Why do you need to know everything about my life, you nosy girl?”, Mira complained, though something was still off.

“Because I have a feeling this has to do with my life, mother. Who is coming over for dinner?”, she asked.

She ignored the long-suffering sigh and waited until her mother finally relented. “Fine”, she said huffily. “There’s this family that I met at the party the Rouhanis had last week”.

Ginny’s eyes widened. _Oh no._ “And?”, she asked, her voice low with dread.

“And they have a good looking son who is your age and lives in the city. He is a doctor, he owns a house, makes a respectable salary and is very charming. He loves Indian classical music too, he would love to listen to you sing all day”, Mira admonished, though the hope in her voice made Ginny shudder and recoil.

“Mother, I do not need to be set up with a good looking doctor. Need I remind you that I’m still technically married?”, she said.

“Well, what’s stopping you?”, Mira asked, the sudden melancholy in her tone making Ginny wince with regret. “I want you to be happy, beta”, her mother said in a tremulous voice.

Ginny shut her eyes and pulled at her hair with her right hand. _Some parents commit murder to save their children from ruin_. _Others set theirs up on awkward dates. At least it’s the lesser of two evils._

“Nothing”, she said, a tired smile curling her mouth upwards.

“Really?”, Mira asked, not even bothering to hide her glee.

“Yes, Maa. I’m taking care of it”, she said and looked back at the door behind which Cecilia Turner slept blissfully with the knowledge that her children were safe.

* * *

Andrew stared at her, his eyes wide and a tentative smile on the edges of his mouth. “You don’t mean this. This is a joke, isn’t it?”, he asked, as he shuffled through the stack of divorce papers on the table between them. They were seated on the outdoor patio of a little cafe near King’s Cross station. Ginny had got there half an hour earlier than the time they had both agreed upon. She had held back her urge to shove the table toward him and slapped the stack of papers on the table in response to his cheery hello.

He balked as he reached the section detailing grounds for divorce. She’d attached the copies of the photographs in chronological order, just to fuck with him.

She enjoyed how quickly his face drained of all color and took a sip of her coffee.

“How?”, he spluttered. “How did you do this?”

She looked away. _Not my favorite part, this._ “I knew”, she said and mumbled into her mug.

“Well, why didn’t you say something then?”, he asked, his voice rising an octave.

She stared at him, incredulous. “I’m sorry, are you mad at _me_ for not bringing up your philandering ways? Are you serious?".

“No, I’m asking why you were never interested in talking about it”.

“I was interested, I raised the issue multiple times, but you always made excuses and ran away”, she said.

“Yeah, and you asked me a total of five times, Gin. Five”.

She raised her eyebrows. “Are you really saying you did all of this for my attention?”, she asked. _A stupider thing had never been said, surely._

He bristled. “Well of course that’s why. I’m not denying any of this, but I had my reasons! You pushed me into it, with your obsession with your career and nightly calls with Sally and Jane. For all I know you’re sleeping around with someone at work, you’re there all the time!”. People had started to turn around and look at them in the cafe. Ginny leaned back and closed her eyes as she took deep calming breaths.

“Sign the papers, Andrew. I’m not listening to any more of this. We don’t have a joint account and I owned the house, so we’re not splitting any assets. You earned more than me but I’m not going to sue you for alimony. I’ll be more than happy to never see your face or hear from you ever again”, she said, her voice level as she gripped her mug a little too tightly.

“Why are you doing this?”, he hissed, his features pinched with pain.

She frowned. “Did you not see the list of women?”, she asked.

“I only went out with them so you would notice me, Gin”, he said, his hands gripping the table cloth. Ginny rolled her eyes at the melodrama _._ “For the past three years I had been nothing more than a bloody artifact for you, like the trophies and medals on the bureau. You’d come home and all you’d talk about was work. You weren’t even interested in sex. How often have we slept together in the past three years, eh? Six times?”, he said.

Ginny held his gaze. “That’s because I found out about Lisa. Matthew told me when he was drunk”, she said. Lisa Rogers was an old friend of theirs from uni. Andrew had slept with her during their first anniversary party, much to Ginny’s embarrassment. _And again, six weeks ago._

His mouth fell open. “When did Matthew tell you?”

“The day after the party. I knew and so did everyone else. It took me three months to get over that, but in the end I reasoned that it was a drunken mistake. So I decided to give our marriage another shot. Clearly, I was wrong”, she snapped and fumbled for her cigarettes with shaking hands.

“So what’s changed now?”, he asked after a moment. “What’s made you take this momentous decision of throwing your cheating husband out after four years of taking his crap? Not interested in keeping Mira happy any more, are you? She should really stop expecting anything from you, shouldn’t she?”.

Ginny smiled. She was expecting this question. She’d decided to avoid answering it, but after his petty outburst about her mother, Andrew had left her no choice. “See, there’s this bloke I’d really like to shag. But I’m married and I’m not an adulterer. I’m in luck, though, because my husband has slept with half of London. Thank God we always used protection those six times we had really awful sex. God only knows how many diseases you picked up from whoever you consorted with”, she said, enjoying every bit of the rage clouding his features.

“Be a doll and sign these papers, will you?”, she asked and lit a cigarette, grateful they had chosen the outdoor patio for their meeting.

Andrew was fuming. His fists were clenched, his left eye was twitching and he shook with rage. “I will sue you”, he hissed.

Ginny took a long bored drag of the cigarette. “For what, a copper’s salary? You make more money than I do. You’ll get laughed out of court”, she said.

“I’ve lived in that house for four years, I am entitled to half of it!”.

“Yeah, no”.

“You bloody-”, he began, but Ginny banged her fist on the table and leaned in till her face was inches away from his. “Look here, you arsehole”, she snarled. “Unless you want me to sue you for alimony and for possible medical expenses I might have resulting from your adultery, you will sign those papers and co-operate with me. If you’re thinking of suing me back for ‘unreasonable behavior’, forget about it. I have statements from four of our friends describing your affairs and also the number of times you’ve hit on them. I don’t feel like robbing you and Kelly of your much-needed baby funds, so don’t make me”, she said and sat back.

His eyes were wide. “How do you know?”, he asked.

Ginny sighed. “Sign the papers, Andrew. I expect them to be delivered to me in two days. Let’s end this”, she said as she stubbed out the dying cigarette and lit another. She put down a business card on the table and got up to put her jacket on. “This is my lawyer. She’ll handle any other questions you have. If you try to sleep with her, she will kick you in the balls”, she said and turned to leave.

“Gin, I’m sorry”, she heard him say but she held up her right fist in a middle finger salute and kept walking. As she approached the station, she stuffed her hands in her pockets and curled them into fists to stop them from shaking.

* * *

The first breath she took was crisp, cold and wonderful. If she’d known that this what it felt like to be free, she would never have gotten married in the first place. She stubbed out her cigarette and walked up to the station exit, smiling so wide her cheeks hurt. _Who the hell needs boyfriends or husbands?_ _This is so much better. No complaints or fights, no cheating, no messy divorces._ She stopped in her tracks as she saw the Chrysler 300 in front of her apartment building. She turned to look behind her. _No Emily. No ninjas._

She checked her phone, her heart thumping. There were three texts from Sherlock.

**_Lestrade, where are you?_ **

**_Come back home now. I need your assistance._ **

**_Now, Lestrade!_ **

Ginny nearly dropped her phone and ran up to the building, her pulse racing. She jumped over the littered parcels in the foyer and ran through the open front door. What had Sherlock gotten himself into? Had the redhead's minions kidnapped or attacked him? She cursed the fact that she’d left her taser and badge in her room and ran up the stairs. _Fat lot of good that will do, he’s got ten armed men in there for all I know._

She reached the top of the landing, gasping for breath and staring in confusion at her apartment door. It was ajar. She snuck up to it, her footsteps light. She held her laptop bag in her hands as a weapon.

“Do come in, Inspector”, his voice drawled when she was an inch away from the door. “We’ve been waiting for you”.

Ginny’s stomach dropped. She gave up her hiding spot and strode in, expecting to see Sherlock cowering on the floor with ten guns pointed at him.

Instead she gaped stupidly at the sight in front of her. Sherlock and the tall man were sitting in the opposing armchairs in front of the fireplace. Sherlock was scowling, his foot jiggling and his face turned towards the ceiling as he avoided looking at any of them. The tall man was sneering at her as he looked down at her. “How nice of you to join us, Inspector”, he said in a silky voice.

He was wearing a light gray suit this time, complete with a waistcoat and copper colored tie. From where she stood, she couldn’t make out the pattern on the square black and gold buttons on the jacket and waistcoat. _Was it a lion or a sphinx?_ The entire combination went really well with the red hair. Her stomach lurched as she saw him smile in acknowledgement of her examination.

“What are you doing here?”, she asked, wrenching her eyes away from him and looking around. No armed guards, just two men examining the carpet and furniture with swabs. “What the hell are you looking for in my apartment?”, she said, staring as one of the men picked out a piece of bubblegum that was stuck under one of the dining chairs.

Sherlock shook his head, still looking at the ceiling. “She does that”, he said, to no-one in particular.

She frowned at him. “I do what.. Hang on, do you know this man?”, she asked, confused.

“Of course I do, why else would I invite him here?”.

“You invited him?”, she asked, staring between the both of them. “Why?”, she asked.

Sherlock threw a piece of paper at her and kept staring at the plaster on the ceiling. Ginny dropped her bag and caught in her right hand. “What the hell is this?”, she asked as she opened the balled up pamphlet. **Acton Rehabilitation Center for Addiction** , the title said in large red letters. She looked up at Sherlock. “Are they going to take you?”, she asked.

“Yes”, said Sherlock and took a minute to glare at the redhead, who returned the fury in equal measure.

“So where does he come in? Is he forcing you to do-”.

Sherlock laughed openly at this and even the other man allowed himself a small smile. “No-one has ever forced me to do anything, Lestrade. You have blackmailed me, yes, but I am free to forgo our agreement at any time”, he said.

Ginny frowned for a second before her eyes widened. “He’s where your resources come from, isn’t he? Look, as much as I support the decision to go to rehab, I don’t think making deals with a blackmailer is wise”, she said. Sherlock sighed in response.

Ginny gritted her teeth. “He’s the one I told you about, you git, the one that was looking for information on you”, she said, ignoring the other man's raised eyebrows.

Sherlock sighed. “Of course he was. If I had a nose like that, I would also stick it where it didn’t belong. He’s always been like that. No wonder our parents think he’s _oh so clever._ Little do they know about the minions he employs to spy on the delinquent druggie brother who can tear his reputation to shreds”, he snarled as he stared the other man down.

She felt her mouth fall open. “You’re his..”, she said and looked at Sherlock.

“He’s your..”, she tried again, looking at the redhead, who was trying to school his amusement into a serious facade but failing miserably.

“Cleverer-”, said Sherlock.

“Younger”, said the older man.

“Brother”, they both said together.

“Oh God” she said, her eyes wide. “Oh _God!_ ”, she repeated, frowning and pulling at her hair with both hands. “ _Why are there two of you?_ ”, she shouted at no-one in particular.

“I believe that is a question for our parents”, said the redhead, now chuckling. “Mycroft Holmes, pleased to make your acquaintance”, he said and snapped two fingers. The two men examining her living room wrapped up their equipment and left in ten seconds.

Ginny heard them leave and covered her face with one hand, hoping the blood rushing to her face wasn’t as obvious as it felt. She grunted in embarrassment as she realized exactly who she had been flirting with. _And fantasized about to a pretty good orgasm_. “Aaarrgghh!”, she cried.

Sherlock sat up with an upward jerk of his limbs and shot her and Mycroft a quick searching look. His double-take made Mycroft roll his eyes and Ginny wish there was a hole in the ground that she could fall into.

“You're disgusting, Lestrade!”, he yelled at her, aghast.

Before she could respond, he had turned to Mycroft. “And you, with your ten layers of control. Pathetic”, he said and stormed out the door.

“I need bleach for my brain!”, he yelled from the corridor. They heard him rant and kick at doors as he descended the stairs.

From the way Mycroft shook his head, it was clear that he was used to the drama. But she hadn’t missed the momentary flinch that suggested he was affronted by Sherlock’s comment about control.

He got up, long legs uncoiling and straightening. “Have a good day, Inspector. Thank you for all your help”, he said and walked to the door.

“Wait!”, she cried.

Mycroft turned around and shot her a condescending smirk. “Means to an end, Inspector”, he said, as his eyes took in her appearance.

It took her a moment to realize what he meant. She grimaced. “Oh no, however will I live with myself”, she said in a monotone, causing a corner of his mouth to twitch up before he stifled that emotion. “But that’s not what I wanted to talk about”, she said.

Mycroft raised his eyebrows. “I calculate it will take Sherlock two more minutes to give in to his urge and egg the inside of my car. Would you hurry up, please?”, he said as he looked at his pocket watch.

Ginny stared at the antique watch in amazement before looking at him again. “Sure”, she said. “First, what did those men do to my furniture?”

“They checked the apartment for signs of drugs. I had to make sure Sherlock was clean”.

“And?”

His eyes were narrow as he appraised her. “He has been clean since you met at the Smith crime scene. He has thought of getting a “fix” multiple times, even contacted his dealer twice, but he has resisted so far. Interesting”, he said.

Ginny nodded. “That’s good, isn’t it?”, she said, folding her arms across her chest.

He noticed the gesture and smiled. “Indeed”, he said.

“You _do_ care, then?”, she asked. “About him!”, she said, rolling her eyes at the alarm on his face.

“Of course I do”, he said, staring at her like she was an idiot for even doubting that.

“Then why didn’t you just tell me that? Why the whole stalker act?”, she asked.

“Who said it was an act?”, he asked and his chest shook with a deep sigh as he gave her another wistful look and turned to leave.

“Congratulations on the divorce proceedings. Good day, Inspector!”, she heard him say as he walked down the stairs.


	6. The Waters Gang I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Now hang on there”, she said, frowning. “You've stalked me, you’ve tried to blackmail me and you might have manipulated me into kicking out my cheating husband, but only because I wanted to in the first place”. She didn’t care how petty she sounded. This was important. “But this is the first I’ve heard of doing your bloody bidding”.
> 
> His eyes glinted as he looked from her hand back to her face. “And?”, he asked.
> 
> “Well, I don’t care who you think you are, or what you’ve got on me, I’m not doing it. I’m not your Labradoodle”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this took so long, you all. Major life changes happened at once and I was busy tending to them. I'm talking a career change, new city, a broken computer.. you get the gist. I promise I'm focused on the story, now that everything's normalized a bit. Without further ado, here's Chapter 6! :)  
> P.S.: Special thanks to my friend Avid who beta'd this chapter for me and gave me really constructive feedback. You rock, Avid!

 

“It’s a shitty, shitty world we live in”, said Ginny. She stared at the silhouette of the building against the purple sky, the faint cracks and snaps of rotten burning wood on the southern walls still audible long after the flames had been hosed down. The criminals had done a thorough job of burning the three-storey factory down to the ground; if it hadn’t been for their informant and the timely arrival of the fire brigade, they would have zero forensic evidence. Not that they had a lot right now, apart from a bloody thumb in the bushes and a smoke-filled computer room that had remained miraculously untouched.

“At least nobody died”, said Sally as she covered her face with a handkerchief and rubbed her eyes. Even though they were 50 metres away from the smoking remains of the property, the soot and bits of burning paper in the air made it difficult to breathe.

“Yeah, well, small victories”, said Ginny.

Sally tilted her head as she looked at her, eyes narrow. “I thought you’d be happy about the divorce”, she said in a muffled voice.

Ginny looked at her, surprised. “I am”, she said, confused. And then it hit her, that perhaps her irritation was not as well-concealed as she’d hoped. _Oh._ It had been three weeks since the Boscombe case had ended. Since the divorce papers. Since she’d met _him_ for the second time _._ She jiggled her right foot and bit her lower lip, trying to stave off the temptation to light her eighth cigarette of the day. The thought of _him_ was enough to send a twinge down her spine. It began somewhere near her navel and curled her fingers and toes until she had to shake out her limbs and breathe again. It was an intense physical reaction to the fantasy of someone she knew nothing about. Well, apart from the fact that he has a nosy genius for a little brother.  And that his name was Mycroft. _Mycroft_. The strange name rolled off her tongue unprompted and abrupt, in the middle of meetings when she was caught staring into space and at night when she woke up sweaty and confused, trying to grasp the vivid dreams of him that were vanishing into thin air. It didn’t help that _he_ knew everything there was to know about her. _And had his minions stalking her for at least half a year. And could somehow see right through her_.

Her ears burned with embarrassment when she recalled how she’d flirted with him. Men like that could have anyone they want. She should have realized the impossibility of her fantasies at the outset. But her mind was obstinate in its pursuit of imagining Mycroft Holmes naked. Nothing helped, even the fact that there had been no contact from him since that last disastrous meeting. _Means to an end, indeed._ She found herself thinking of that debacle over and over, constructing alternate scenarios where she’d confront him about the photos and divorce papers. _And Emily. And her phone. And changing her emergency contact to Mira_. The audacity of his interference made her grit her teeth and want to hurl her coffee mug at the window every time she thought of him, but instead she resisted the urge and decided to wait for the next impromptu kidnapping. _This time, I will-_

“You don’t look happy. You look irritable and grumpy”, Sally said, interrupting her reverie.

“Well, finding a thumb and thirty kilos of metal in a burning building at 5 am does not help my mood”, said Ginny, making no attempt to keep the irritation out of her voice. She had taken one step out of her office at 2 am when the call came in. Gregson hadn’t clocked in yet, so Ginny was still technically on call. She and Sally walked over to the young man who had made the call from St Bart’s. He was retching in a gutter, holding his injured left hand to his chest.

“Anderson, get away from him for God’s sake”, she said, waving a hand at her forensic lead, who was hovering around the victim, waving an evidence bag in his face. “He’s identified his own finger, hasn’t he? You’ll get your hair sample in a few minutes. Go away now”, she hissed at Anderson, who huffed in annoyance before strutting off.

She tapped the victim’s shoulder and handed him a packet of tissues. “I’m sorry, I’m sure this is difficult for you”, she said to the victim, who had dropped into the chair and was taking deep breaths through his mouth. “Now, can you tell us again what happened when you received the call at 10 pm yesterday?”, she asked as he dabbed at his mouth with a tissue.

Over the next fifteen minutes, the tale of his mysterious employment unfolded. Bruce Parker had been found at Paddington Station at 2 am, unconscious. His hand was bandaged when they found him, and the paramedic’s report said that his thumb had been neatly sliced off with a meat cleaver. He’d remembered everything once he’d come to and led them to the factory that had employed him for the past two months. A colossal printing press stood in the half-burned building, supposedly meant for compacting fuller’s earth. Instead of sacks of fuller’s earth, however, the police had found blocks of zinc and copper in the basement, next to blackened reams of paper and a computer room with hastily emptied bookcases and unplugged PCs.

“How did you get here every night? Did you take a cab?”, she asked.

“No, I took the train to Commercial Dock station every night and they drove me here. They’d make me put on a blindfold every time I got into the car”.

Ginny frowned. “And when did they take off the blindfold?”, she asked.

“When we were inside the factory’s front door”.

Ginny looked at him with narrowed eyes as he gulped and shifted in his chair.

“Look, I’m going to be very frank here”, said Ginny. “Given what you told me, I’m confused as to why you’d take this job”.

“It was good money”, he said in a small voice. “I have debts”. He scratched the dirt with his shoe and dropped his eyes to the ground before turning to look at the building again.

“I never saw the press in action”, he said, staring at the black husk of the building with wide eyes, his hands shaking. “I was only called to recalibrate it every evening. I was never allowed to leave the mechanical room, either. There was a man who stayed with me every night. He always had a gun on him”.

“Can you identify this man? Could you see him clearly?”, Ginny asked.

“Yes, yes, he had a bushy moustache and receding brown hair. He called himself Henderson but I once heard the security guard call him Walter”.

“And how did he react to that?”.

“He was boiling mad. He told me to wait in the car and I reckon he gave him a real ear bashing”.

“Can you describe him to a sketch artist?”, she asked.

Bruce nodded quickly and rocked in his chair again.

“So what happened last night?”, Ginny asked him.

“He got a phone call and left me for five minutes. I tried to snoop around and see what the other rooms held”, he said. “After a few minutes of fumbling around, I found myself in the computer room. I saw some high-end computers in there, along with blueprints for currency notes and one pound coins. I managed to take a few photographs on my phone and sneak back to the mechanical room, but Henderson was back there before me. I took one look at his face and decided to bolt. All the doors on that end were locked, however, so the only way out was a high window leading into the backyard”, he said, pointing to a broken window on the east wall of the building. “I could hear him approaching as I yanked the window open. I jumped off the sill towards the bushes, but he struck his axe at my hand at the last second and managed to hack my thumb off. I landed in the bushes and must have passed out, because the next thing I remember is waking up in the hospital”.

“Alright, we’re going to get you to the Yard and have you talk to a sketch artist. They’ll need detailed descriptions of Henderson, and whoever else you met on the site”, she said and got up. “After that, we’ll get a constable to take you home and stay with you, okay?”.

He nodded, his face grim as he got into the back of the car.

Ginny turned to Sally and the two other officers to give them instructions over what needed to be done next. The next few hours were going to be crucial, what with their counterfeiting gang now on the run. _How far could you run with multiple bags of currency?_

“All right, there’s three things we need to do. Run a background check on our victim to corroborate his employment history and financial situation, get the three sketches on our website, set up alerts for them and lastly, get images and descriptions of the fake designs out to the news stations. Sergeant, could you have the article up on the Yard website by 9 am? The earlier the better”, she said and waited for the man to shake his head with a grunt.

“Yeah, I’d love to be back home too, Sergeant Jackson, but guess what, we’re working. Get on it, will you?”, she said, frowning at the him. She stared him down until he turned on his heel and left.

“This is why I hate Gregson’s people”, she said to Sally. “Alright, you make sure that the artist’s portraits are up on our social media accounts as soon as they’re done. Just send it to IT at least five times so they remember to put them up in time instead of fannying around”.

“Anderson”, she said to the man eyeballing her PC. “Anderson! Stop that and listen to me”, she said and snapped her fingers in front of his face.

“What?”, he said as he flinched away from her.

“When will you have your report ready?”.

“It’ll take me two days after we get access to the building. So, the day after tomorrow, late afternoon”.

“Well that’s too bad, isn’t it? I need it tomorrow afternoon”.

“What?”, he spluttered. “But I’ve been on duty for-”.

“Oh God, honestly, what is it with everyone today? Get a grip and get your arse back to the Yard. I don’t care how you do it, just put it on my desk tomorrow by 3 pm”.

“Fine”, he hissed at her and left.

“Sally”, she said, turning to her PC, who had a wary look on her face as she took a step backwards and held her hands up.

Ginny ignored her. “Give me the list of crime beat journalists I need to talk to. Once we finish all this, I’m clocking out and going home”.

“You need a break, Ginny. Throwing yourself into work is not the solution to emotional repression”, said the PC.

Ginny rolled her eyes. _Emotional repression my arse_. “I do _not_ need a break. I need to get paperwork done so I can go home and get some sleep before tomorrow morning”.

“Detective Inspector!”, she heard someone shout. She turned around to find a tall blond firefighter making his way towards them. Sally gave a hum of appreciation and slithered away towards the car, but before a confused Ginny could call after her, the man came to a halt in front of her, held out his hand and smiled to reveal a row of bright white teeth.

“Good morning”, he said. Ginny returned his firm handshake and prayed he had good news for her.

“So, when can we go in?”, she asked without preamble, just as he said “CW Davidson, DI Lestrade”. They both stopped and frowned and Ginny stared at their entwined hands curiously.

“Nice to meet you, Davidson”, she said and gave her hand a tug, hoping he’d get the message. Davidson jumped as if he’d been scalded and let go of her, his green eyes widening as he stood up straight and handed her the evidence bag he was carrying.

“We’ll need at least four hours to clear the structure of debris before we declare it safe to approach”, he said. “So far, we’ve recovered four computers and this bag of papers stuffed under a desk”, he said.

Ginny frowned. “Were the computers damaged?”, she asked.

Davidson sighed as he ran a hand through his blond locks. “No. From the looks of it, they took all the papers they could carry, but simply unplugged the computers. They probably thought unplugging them would destroy the information. We’ve got some really daft criminals here”, he said and grinned. “Ma’am”, he added with haste.

“Please, DI Lestrade is fine”, she said and waved a hand.

He frowned as he looked down at her, his mouth twitching as if he wanted to say something before he stopped himself. “DI Lestrade it is”, he said. “If you like, I can call you as soon as the site is ready. Say tonight, around seven or eight?”.

“That would be very helpful. Tell you what, I’ll give you my card”, she said as she searched through her pockets and came up with a crumpled business card that was thankfully her own. “Call my mobile, don’t worry about what time it is”, she said and handed it to him.

“I hope I won’t be interrupting an important meeting or appointment, DI Lestrade”, he said as his eyes twinkled.

“No, you’ll just wake me up from a long nap. I can’t wait to go home and sleep”, she said.

“Seven it is”, he said, as he made a show of putting the card in his chest pocket and patting it before he turned away. Ginny shrugged as she walked to her car. _We’ve got some friendly fire brigade officers, that’s for sure,_ she thought. Sally, who was standing next to the passenger door, shook her head at Ginny and took the evidence bag from her, smiling.

“Did you really say ‘DI Lestrade is fine’?”, she asked as they got in.

“It’s better than Ma’am”, Ginny said and shrugged. “What?”, she asked Sally, who was staring at her with concern.

“You do realize what just happened, don’t you?”, she asked.

“Yes, we talked about when we could.. Oh no!”, Ginny exclaimed, her hands dropping in her lap as she realized what she’d just said.

“Oh yes”, said Sally.

“Is he bad at flirting or have I completely forgotten how it’s done?”, she asked and giggled.

“You’ve completely forgotten how it’s done”, responded the younger woman without a touch of hesitation.

“Oh, shut it”, she said and yawned. “Can’t stop a man from dreaming”, she said and smiled. The Focus made a strangled sound as it fired up. Ginny drove out of the parking lot slowly, taking care to stay 5 feet behind the police car that was transporting the victim to the Yard.

“It doesn’t have to be just a dream, you know”, Sally said, not even bothering to hide the condescension.

“Haha, no thank you”, said Ginny as she looked ahead at the road, concentrating on keeping her bleary eyes open.

“Why?”, Sally asked, her voice rising to obsessive levels. “Isn’t he dishy enough for you?”.

Ginny gave a long-suffering sigh and pressed her temples with one hand. “Of course, he’s dishy, that’s not the point”, she grumbled.

“What is the point, then?”.

“Oh God, what are you, my mother?”.

“Ginny, you need to date normal men at least once in your life”.

Her mouth fell open, the indignation making it difficult to find the right words. “I have dated normal men”, she spluttered.

Sally’s groan of disbelief made her grit her teeth.

“Cut it out, all right? I don’t want to talk about this anymore”, she told the younger woman.

“See, this is exactly what I’m saying. You’re avoiding even the thought of dealing with what happened”, said Sally.

Ginny turned to stare at her for a quick second. “I did deal with what happened. I divorced his cheating arse!”, she said, aware of her voice rising in the small confines of the car.

“I don’t mean Andrew, I mean dealing with yourself. It’s a big change, it’s clear you’re angry and unhappy”, said Sally, persisting even though she’d just edged away towards the passenger side window by at least a couple of inches.

“I AM happy!”, Ginny shouted as she threw her hands up and braked so hard the tyres screeched. They were lucky that they were outside the city limits, or else they’d surely been rear-ended by an enthusiastic cabbie by now.

“Riiight”, said Sally, “‘cos that’s what happy people do. Scream their heads off like a banshee”.

“Look, it’s been forty long hours. I’m fagged, alright? We can talk about this later when I’ve had some sleep and am less likely to endanger both our lives”.

“Ginny, ever since you got divorced, you’ve been breathing down everyone’s neck, calling people at 2 in the morning with questions about paperwork and showing up to work red-eyed and exhausted, not in a good way. I’ve had enough of this. If you don’t stop and look at yourself, you’re going to taser someone just out of pure spite. And I’m the one you’re around the most”.

“Well, you’re a very tempting target”, said Ginny as she started the car back up. It choked on thin air this time.  

“I’m not kidding, Ginny”, said Sally. “Take a holiday, go away for some time”.

Ginny tried to keep the steering wheel straight as the hacking cough returned and her torso shook with the force of it. Her chest hurt as the copious amounts of coffee and nicotine tried to claw their way up her throat. She curled in on her stomach and inhaled a mouthful of cold air.

“And please stop smoking”, she heard Sally say.

Her eyes did hurt, they were red and blotchy before she’d left the station last night. The frozen dry air had made them even more angry. Her heavy leather jacket was enough to insulate her torso from the freezing wind, but the muddy water had seeped into the standard issue shoes and her feet were solid blocks of ice by now. Despite her brain screaming aloud for sleep, she had avoided going home. _I would sooner set my hair on fire than experience that stellar example of zero self-control again._

* * *

 

It took them four hours to make sure the blueprints on the computers were sent out to all local police and news stations and get descriptions of the suspect and alerts uploaded. The gang had made away with at least ten bags of fake cash, given the size of the room. Surely, they couldn’t offload it all in one morning. When they did, the Yard now had a system to trace it. Ginny made the necessary phone calls to crime beat reporters, her temper getting fouler with each bit of small talk.

“We heard about the whiz kid on the Titan of the Thames case, Lestrade”, said one of them. Nicole Stern was one of the most respected crime journalists in the country. She had helped the Yard get crucial information out to the public multiple times and had reported exclusively on the Homicide division’s cases for the past five years.

“Whiz kid?”, Ginny asked, as she sat up with a jolt.

“Yeah, didn’t catch his name, but I heard he solved the murder. After engaging in a fist-fight with you where you nearly drowned in the Thames”. Nicole giggled despite herself.

“No, silly tales, all of them”, said Ginny, grimacing. The lie came out on its own, more out of caution than selfishness. “You know how clumsy I am. My fall was all my doing, unfortunately”, she said and laughed. Her cheeks hurt with the falsity of it.

“So, he did solve the case?”, asked Nicole.

“No, the team solved the case. He was a crucial witness”. Ginny was aware she was treading into dangerous territory.

“How exactly did he help?”.

Ginny rubbed her temples with frozen fingertips. She had to lie, now that she was backed into a corner. “Look, I can’t give out specific information on how witnesses helped us on a case without their consent. He wishes to be private and he said as much, so anyone on my team who’s giving you names is actively participating in putting a private citizen in potential harm. I have zero tolerance for that, as you well know”, she said and waited, hoping it had worked. _We’re fucked otherwise_.

“It wasn’t anyone on your team, Ginny”, said Nicole.

Ginny let out a breath of relief as she heard the distinct sound of a notebook snapping shut. _That was close. I must find whoever’s leaking this stuff out to the press and upper management._

“Are you going to use him on any other cases?”, asked the reporter, interrupting Ginny just as she was about to say goodbye.

“I’m not omniscient, Nicole. I’ll take everyone’s help, I’ve always made that clear. Hell, if you feel like you’ve seen my suspect somewhere, I’ll even rope you in to help”, Ginny said and chuckled.

“Alright, Ginny, thanks for nothing”, said the older woman. “I’m here when you want to talk”.

“Thank you. Cheers!”, she said and clicked the phone shut before any more questions arose. She dropped her head in her hands and groaned. Whoever the leak was, they had a knack of giving out the most damaging pieces of information to the absolute worst person possible. Jane finding out they had no suspect five days into the Boscombe case was peculiar, as the only person Ginny had told was Sally. The reporter finding out about Sherlock helping on a high-profile murder case while being off his tits was another. Hell, she didn’t even know if it was the same person both times. She looked out of her office windows at the floor where her teammates milled about, getting ready to go off a grueling shift. _It could be anyone on the team_ , she thought as a chill went up her spine. She’d need to make discreet inquiries soon. Once she’d gulped down another cup of coffee, she put on her jacket and waved in Sally and Anderson’s general direction before she clocked out and left.

* * *

 

She stepped out into the chilly afternoon air and blinked at the bright sunny day, her brain still buzzing with snippets from her conversation with the reporter. Her eyebrows knotted in a frown as she realized they weren’t on her. _Oh dammit, not again,_ she thought and traced her steps back to the NSY front door, examining the pavement and almost missing the Chrysler idling in front of her. She did a double-take and stared at it, open-mouthed, her breath hitching as her heartbeat racked up from its idle thrum and the window rolled down. A long arm propped out of the window, the elbow resting on the sill as he held his hand out to her. Ginny frowned at the bunch of keys in the open palm. _Those are mine, all right._

“Do come in, Inspector”, he said and opened the door.

Ginny blinked once before she found her feet moving toward the warm yellow lights of the car’s interior. She put a hand on the top of the door frame to avoid bumping her head and fell right into the seat, eyeing the interiors with undisguised curiosity. Understated chrome and black leather added to the luxurious aura of her surroundings and to the distinct allure of her companion. Mycroft gave her a silky smile as the manicured nails of his right hand caressed the spine of a red folder lying in his lap.

“Good eve..”, he said.

“Wait, sorry”, she mumbled and held up a finger as her mouth stretched wide open in a sudden yawn. She held her hand to her face as it subsided and blinked her watery eyes. Mycroft glanced at his watch before he opened his mouth again. “Good..”, he began to say and stopped himself as she hid her face in her hands and rewarded him with another rambunctious yawn.

“Are you done?”, he asked in a testy voice.

“No, there’s lots more where that came from”, she said and stretched her arms out before falling back in her seat.

His face was drawn, faint lines around the bright blue eyes thrown into relief as his mouth curved upwards. The suit this evening was navy blue, with a dark gray waistcoat and a blood-red tie. She tore her eyes away from the open waistcoat and the plain white shirt stretched over his chest. His corneas were tinged red around the corners, his hair brushed back in a uniform wave toward his temple, though a small patch behind his right ear still stood up in defiance. It took her a couple of seconds to spot the unostentatious red folder in his lap.

“Why do you have that file? That is the Yard’s property”, she said and pointed at it. “And why are you kidnapping me this time? Where are we going?” she asked, her hands folded across her chest tightly enough to prop up her torso and keep her from falling over.

He chuckled at the barrage of questions. “One thing at a time, Inspector”, he said.

“Detective Inspector”, she growled.

“Detective Inspector”, he repeated. “We are going somewhere you can eat and fall asleep”, he said and raised his left hand towards the partition between the cabin and the driver’s section. The three raps in quick succession echoed through the empty space between them.

“Unless that somewhere is my apartment, I refuse to go”, she said.

He tilted his head and raised a cocky eyebrow. “You are aware that you’re already seated in a moving car, aren’t you?”, he said.

“That’s never stopped me before”, she said and shrugged.

Blue eyes flicked towards her right calf before returning to her face again. Ginny’s jaw fell open. _How on earth?_

“Three months old, twelve stitches”, he said, his eyes scrunching. “Was it the bank robbery or the kidnapping?”, he asked.

“Kidnapping”, she replied automatically. _Wow._ “How did you..?”.

“I observe”, he said and smiled.

Ginny raised her eyebrows as her arms loosened and fell to her sides. “You do it too, don’t you?”, she asked him.

A smug smile was threatening to break out on his face. He shrugged his left shoulder and tapped the folder in his lap, his fingers dancing across the cardboard casing.

“To answer your question, we _are_ heading to your apartment. You will notice that the lack of human food has been remedied, at least for this week”, he said. “Given that it is a fifteen-minute drive, I thought we could chat”.

“You thought wrong”, she said, despite the loud grumble from her stomach that followed. “I’m tired and hungry and I need to sleep. The last thing I want to do is chat”, she said and yawned.

He took a moment to study her upturned mouth. “Aah, you’re angry at me”, he said and frowned.

“Brilliant deduction, Mr. Holmes”, she said and grimaced. At another time, when the words weren’t a manic jumble etched on the inside of her brain instead of coherent sentences flying off her tongue, she would gladly unleash her fury at him. But now, the heated leather bucket seats called out to her bones and she sank into them, one centimeter at a time.

“Well, I am happy to inform you that you’re wrong”, she heard him say from far away. She sat up, confused. “I haven’t said anything”, she said.

“You didn’t have to”, he said, the smugness distorting his mouth again.

Goosebumps broke out on her forearms and she resisted the innate need to squirm under his sharp scrutiny. Any thought of sleep evaporated as she hastened to look away.

“You think I’ve stalked you, blackmailed you, and manipulated you, so as to make you do my bidding”, he said.

Her chin jerked up and she held up a hand. “Now hang on there”, she said, frowning. “You _have_ stalked me, you’ve tried to blackmail me and you might have manipulated me into kicking out my cheating husband, but only because I wanted to in the first place”. She didn’t care about how petty she sounded. This was important. “But this is the first I’ve heard of doing your bloody bidding”.

His eyes glinted as he looked from her hand back to her face. “And?”, he asked.

“Well, I don’t care who you think you are, or what you’ve got on me, I’m not doing it. I’m not your Labradoodle”.

His features flattened for a second, the rapid blink of his eyes reminding her of a reel of photographs whirring past too quick to make sense of.

“Never mind that, I’ll send you a photo”, she said and sighed. “That’s not the point”.

“Indeed”, he said.

“I’m _not_ doing what you want”.

“You don’t know what it is”.

“ _I don’t care!_ ”, she shouted and gulped down the cough that tried to interrupt her.

He smiled with all his features this time, his face suddenly years younger than it looked a moment ago. “Good”, he said.

“You bet it is!”, she snarled, before it hit her. “Wait, what?”, she asked.

“I don’t want you to be my Labradoodle”, he said and his lips twisted in distaste at the last word. “Any more. You have a keen mind, not brilliant, but tenacious all the same. All I want is for you to use it”.

Ginny sat back and looked around at her surroundings, frowning. “Let me get this straight. You stalked me and kidnapped me because you wanted me to use my own mind. Something I do on a regular basis anyway”, she said. “That’s an interesting use of your time”.

“No, that is not the way to look at it”, he said and sighed. She was sure she wasn’t imagining the condescension. “I have been observing the Metropolitan Police’s work for the past ten months. Forty-three police officers work in the Specialist Crime and Operations Directorate's Homicide Command at a rank equivalent to yours, twenty-three above at the rank of DCI. I could have entrusted any of them with the rather onerous task of supervising a young, gifted, fragile young man as he stops dangerous criminals from wandering your beloved city streets”. He paused, eyes roving over her sprawled limbs. “But your achievements, sincerity and mien made you stand out among your colleagues”, he said.

Ginny grunted and stuffed her hands in her pockets as she curled them into fists. _Sure, they did_. His right cheek twitched and his lips pursed as he took in her stony glare. The momentary lapse in his mask was almost endearing. _Almost._ She waited for him to continue as she jiggled her right foot.

“It was essential to know you could be trusted”, he said and held his palms up, as if to imply that his reasoning was as clear as daylight.

“Why was it essential to follow my ex-husband around for six months? And send me those photographs and divorce papers?”, she asked, her eyes narrowing. “Also, how the hell did you do it all? What is it you bloody _do_?”, she asked and leaned towards him. Her chest rose and fell as she breathed him in, the familiar scent settling on her tongue and making her blink, hard. Her stomach dropped as it all clicked in her sluggish brain. _You’re an idiot, Lestrade._ “You do this for a living, don’t you? Spy on people...”, she asked, the words dropping off her tongue slowly as she edged away from him. She gulped at the tiny frown line creasing between his eyes. “Not just when Sherlock’s in trouble. Seriously, what do you do?”, she asked. _The guns, the rescue, the texts, the data from her phone... This could be the only explanation._

He rolled his eyes and clicked his tongue, exasperated. “I’m a minor official in the Ministry of Transporta..”.

“Sure, and I’m the Queen of England”, she said and chuckled.

He raised an eyebrow and stared at her as he ground his teeth together. Ginny grinned. She was finally getting somewhere.

“As I was saying, I am accustomed to making decisions based on a person’s long-term potential. _You_ are brimming with opportunity”.

She shook her head. “I’m sure some of my colleagues would have been happy to have Sherlock’s assistance and the opportunity to handle him”, she said.

“Not all of them would have given him a place to stay when he was on the run from his interfering older brother. Not _one_ of them would have refused to hand over information about him at the slightest hint of blackmail”, he said. His voice rang in the hollow cabin and his chest arose and fell a tad bit faster than it had only moments ago. Ginny glanced out the window and rubbed her mouth with the back of her hand as the blood rushed to her face.

“Yeah, I’m a regular hero in plain clothes”, she said in a low voice.

His deep, reverberating chuckle made the spark in her stomach catch flame.

“You know, I’m still waiting for the apology here. Don’t get me wrong, this is all very nice, but what you do is-”.

“Intrusive”, he said, “I understand that now. And I apologize”, he said as he folded his arms across his chest and leaned back, the blank stare replacing the mirth that was there a moment ago.

“You do?”, she asked, shocked.

“Yes”.

“And you promise to butt out of my life?”.

“As much as is possible without compromising your safety or Sherlock’s. You both seem to have a penchant for attracting deranged fringe elements of society”, he said. _I worry about him, constantly_ , he’d said to her. Twice.

“Comes with the territory. Butt out", she said.

Mycroft huffed out a breath and leaned into her personal space as he dropped the red folder in her lap. “As I said, Detective Inspector”, he said, his bottom lip shaking “you have much to offer. I thought it prudent to eliminate those who try to harm you. And I won’t hesitate to do so again”, he said. As he looked away, the tip of his tongue darted over his upper lip before his teeth caught it between them.

It was confounding; the rapid swing of his demeanor between professional, caustic and flirtatious. _Means to an end, Inspector._ “You haven’t killed Andrew, have you?”, she asked and gulped nervously.

The cocked eyebrow this time was a matter of pride, it was heartening to know that she was the cause of the shining, fleeting of spark of amusement in his eyes. It took her a second to remember what was niggling at her.

“So, I’m just supposed to put up with the constant surveillance and manage Sherlock along with doing my actual job for sixty hours a week, am I?”, she asked.

His eyes narrowed. “Are you asking for remuneration?”, he said. “When we first met I remember you being particularly resistant to the barest hint of financial motivation”.

Ginny glared at him. She didn’t want to recall how open she’d been towards other kinds of motivation. “Getting him to work in an official capacity is going to involve a lot of red tape, Mr. Holmes. And not of the easy kind”, she said.

“I will ensure that his onboarding paperwork is taken care of”, he said.

“Okay”, she said and frowned. She didn’t want to know how exactly he’d ‘take care of’ paperwork. “But that’s not the only thing. I’m asking for equal responsibility in keeping him clean”, she said. “I’ve already lied to a reporter once this morning and I will not do it again. If he does not stay consistently clean after rehab, he can’t work with me. Hell, if he does so much as pot again, I’m going to kick him out. And then drag him to rehab. But I can’t do it alone”. Her hand curled around the red folder so hard that the cardboard creaked.

He took a few moments to study her. His features softened bit by bit and he sat so still she was sure he’d forgotten to breathe. Finally, he extended a hand and spoke in a raw, shaky voice. “You have my full co-operation, Detective Inspector”.

Ginny blinked stupidly and took his hand. Her calloused, dirty palm disappeared in his warm, soft cocoon of his grip. She’d spent most of the past three weeks fuming about him and his stupid meddlesome methods. But now, as his grip tightened around hers, she could not help the surge of warmth flooding her insides. _Don’t be ridiculous, Ginny_ , she thought. _Mycroft Holmes doesn’t need protection_. _He needs-_ She frowned and licked her lips, almost missing the slow smile dawning on his face. She was shaken out of her reverie as he withdrew his hand, his long fingers pausing to cradle hers before they let go.

 _Goddammit._ She tugged on her scarf, as if that would quieten the hammering in her chest. _Did I swallow a canary whole earlier today?_ Only the weight of the dull red file perched on her knees grounded her. Ginny took a deep breath and flicked it open, glad to have the distraction. They were cold cases that had been shunted off to the bottom drawer in her desk, taken out and reviewed once every six months as protocol required. She settled back in her seat and unhooked one of the files within with care.

“He’s doing well, I take it then?”, she said as she handed him the file.

He nodded once and smiled, a deep sigh leaving him as he settled deeper into his seat. One could say they mirrored each other, if one had nothing better to do.

“Good. He’ll like this one. Maria Gibson, shot in the head and found lying in a pool of blood on Thor Bridge. The prime suspect was the children’s governess, but we couldn’t charge her for lack of evidence. It was circumstantial at best”, she said as he rifled through the file and snapped it shut. He crossed his right leg above his left and shook his head. “Far too easy”, he complained. “I won’t hear the end of it”.

“Easy? What do you mean-”, she said and stopped mid-sentence. _Of course. Showoffs, the two of them._ “You’ve already solved it, haven’t you? Go on, tell me”, she said and held out her hand for the file.

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t take it to him”, he said. “But I would like a backup, just in case”.

Ginny sighed and handed him another file. “Two murders, a housekeeper and the lady of the house, exactly a year apart. Both died the exact same way, having fallen 40 feet from the penthouse balcony. Our only suspect was her stepson, but he had a strong alibi from his father. Happy?”, she asked as he glanced at the contents and gave a hum of approval.

“Gloating”, he said and looked out of the window as the car stopped. “I..”, he said and hesitated. “I appreciate your co-operation, Detective Inspector”, he said, as his hand clutched the door handle. The sunlight pouring in through the window threw his features into sharp relief, the auburn shadow of his beard glowing on his alabaster skin. His chest constricted as he gritted his teeth and let out a slow, measured breath. 

“It’s not as if you two left me any other choice”, she said and tore her eyes away as Mycroft swung the door open.

Ginny regarded the pang of disappointment in her chest with panic and made her legs move towards the door. _When in doubt, flee._ “All right, I’m going to go drop dead for ten hours. I’ll see you in three weeks then, if all goes well”, she said as she hopped out of the door onto the pavement.

“Hmm. You might want to wash your face before seven o’clock”, he said. Ginny looked up to find him sneering, his fingers tapping the door handle as he gave her a once-over. “On second thought, perhaps not. CW Davidson prefers his women soot-stained and smoldering”, he said and shut the door in her bewildered, indignant face. Her mouth fell open. _Bloody Holmeses,_ she cursed under her breath and blew a raspberry at the departing car. _Always need to have the last word._


End file.
